


An Exercise In Futility

by KelinciHutan



Category: Star Trek: Voyager, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelinciHutan/pseuds/KelinciHutan
Summary: While examining an alien device,Voyagerencounters a Borg vessel that had come to study the same device.  But when the device activates, both ships are transported into unknown space, and encounter a ship namedPrometheus, a race called Replicators, and a whole lot of trouble.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Voyager Discovers an Alien Satellite and Accidentally Finds Out what It Does

**Author's Note:**

> The idea behind this story is mostly, “Hey, wouldn’t it be _so incredibly cool_ if the Replicators and the Borg got into a fight!?!” Which it would.
> 
> There is a tiny bit of very slight AU (little, itty, bitty, speck) in that I am including Cameron Mitchell and Carson Beckett in this story, even though they technically didn't meet SG-1 until later in the timeline.
> 
> And for Star Trek… Everything is up for grabs (barring DIS or anything involving JJ Abrams, all of which are Emphatically Not Canon, as far as I am concerned). Anything about Vulcans in ENT that contradicts previously established canon from TOS through VOY is likewise tossed.

_Captain’s Log, Stardate 52298.3_

_Since leaving Devore space and recovering Tuvok and our other telepathic crewmembers, I have to admit to a certain amount of “glancing over my shoulder.” Repeated inspections and Inspector Kashyk’s little deception have put me a bit on edge. I mentioned this to Tuvok who said that there was no logical reason to suppose that the Devore would pursue us beyond their borders and that my concern was not grounded in a factual basis._

_While he may be right, I’m somewhat less than reassured._

_However, it has always been my belief that the best cure for a restless brain is to give it an interesting puzzle to work on. To that end, I’ve been working with Seven of Nine to improve our ability to detect Borg technology and vessels at long-range, in the hopes of minimizing future encounters._

Kathryn Janeway strolled in to Astrometrics after collecting a croissant and a cup of coffee for breakfast. She and Seven of Nine were just about finished with their project and could probably bring it online today if they kept after it.

Several hours, and three new computer subroutines later, Seven said, “The new detection protocols are in place and are activated.”

The display before them suddenly beeped and a planetary system a few light-years away started flashing.

“Is it working already?” Janeway asked in surprise.

“Affirmative,” Seven answered, appearing slightly taken aback. “The computer reports a possible Borg satellite in orbit around the fourth planet of that system.”

“A satellite? I didn’t know the Borg used satellites,” Janeway said, bringing up the information and studying it herself.

“Nor did I,” Seven replied, inspecting the results of the scan more closely. “Perhaps we should investigate more closely?”

“Chakotay to Captain Janeway,” the captain’s commbadge suddenly announced. “Mister Kim just reported picking up what appears to be a Borg satellite on the sensors.” The usually unflapped first officer sounded hopelessly puzzled.

Janeway and Seven exchanged an amused glance. “Yes, Chakotay,” Janeway replied. “Seven and I have been trying to improve our ability to detect the Borg. We didn’t expect it to work quite so soon, but I can hardly argue with the results.”

“Very well. Shall we set course around it?” Chakotay asked.

Janeway paused. Any Borg technology would almost certainly be equipped with active sensors and a link to the Collective. Getting close meant a high probability of giving their position away. On the other hand, it did make one wonder…

“No,” Janeway replied slowly. “No, if the Borg are actually studying something for once, I’m curious to find out what it is. Set course for the satellite. I’ll join you when we get close.”

“Aye, Captain,” Chakotay replied. The link between them went dead. Janeway and Seven began the work of adjusting their other systems to work harmoniously with the new subroutines in astrometrics.

It was only a few hours later when Janeway arrived on the bridge, accompanied by Seven, as they neared the Borg device.

“Captain on deck,” announced Tuvok from his station. Everyone came to attention.

“As you were,” Janeway said. “Report.”

“We’re five minutes to visual range from the satellite,” Chakotay replied.

“Whatever it’s for, it isn’t giving off a lot of energy readings,” Kim said. “I’m detecting an automated scan every 46.37 seconds. It seems to be scanning on a very narrow band, though. While I hate to tempt fate, I don’t believe that anything on _Voyager_ falls within the range.”

Janeway glanced at Seven curiously.

“Such technology is unlike the Borg. It is inefficient,” she replied, with her version of a derisive sniff.

“Perhaps it’s malfunctioning?” Chakotay suggested.

“The Collective would register the malfunction and a probe would be dispatched to repair the malfunction,” Seven answered.

“Shields up. And go to security alert,” Janeway said. “If there is a chance that a Borg ship will be along shortly, I don’t want to meet them unprepared.”

“We are in visual range,” Paris announced.

“On screen,” Janeway ordered.

The viewscreen beeped, and then displayed the unusual device that hung in space before them. There was no denying it was aesthetically pleasant. It was cylindrical, with a large blue gem on one end, settled into a green casing, all surrounded by long golden arms, reaching outwards from the center. This was housed in a gold metal, that was half buff, half shine. Beneath that was what appeared to be a power cell. And beneath that, the device tapered to a gentle point. Overall, the thing looked very like the sort of technology that would have developed from Earth’s early space satellites, before design paradigms had shifted. An alien script was neatly printed on one side of the top, metal section. Beneath it, a green and apparently uninhabited world rotated serenely by.

There was a collective gasp, and although she wasn’t about to twist around to check, Janeway was willing to bet Tuvok had raised at least one of his eyebrows.

“That can’t be Borg,” she breathed.

“This is not a device the Borg would create,” Seven agreed.

“Who would?” Chakotay asked curiously.

“The computer reports no known or probable matches, Commander,” Harry answered. “Whoever built this, I don’t believe we’ve met them yet.”

“It’s awfully pretty, whatever it is,” Paris said quietly. “But why did we all think it was Borg?”

“The new scan protocols implemented by myself and Captain Janeway must be flawed in some way,” Seven said.

“I don’t think so,” Kim replied, studying some of the sensor readings more closely. “The computer reported an 83.4% probability that this technology was Borg. And it does give off many similar readings to a Borg device. Whoever created this, their technology appears similar to Borg technology to our sensors. The energy output is very close.”

“We have arrived at a distance of 24,000 kilometers,” Paris said, bringing the ship to a halt with his customary efficiency. Sometimes Janeway regretted having reduced him to ensign more than others.

“Do we know what this device does?” Chakotay asked curiously.

“I’m afraid not, Commander,” Kim replied. “While it is scanning for a particular sort of energy, most of the other systems are dormant. There seems to be something similar to a transporter array, but given our misdiagnosis of who built—Captain!” Kim cut himself off, his entire demeanor changing. Janeway, with a sinking feeling, knew what his next words would be, “A Borg vessel is on approach.”

“Arm phasers,” Janeway ordered. “Go to red alert.”

A klaxon blared, red lights flashed, and _Voyager_ ’s crew responded to the sudden change in status.

“Bring us about, Mr. Paris,” Chakotay ordered.

“Seven, any idea what brought them here?” Janeway asked.

“It is possible their sensors also presumed this satellite to be Borg and the link to the Collective was assumed to be damaged. This may be a repair team. Or, it may be a group sent to assimilate new technology,” Seven replied.

“Sensors indicate the Borg vessel is roughly half the size of _Voyager_ ,” Harry reported, sounding half-way between relieved and confused. “It’s armaments are an approximate match to our own.”

“A fair fight, for once?” Chakotay observed.

“Seven, what did you call this class of vessel?” Janeway said.

“A probe,” Seven replied.

“Right. Tuvok, start—”

Before Janeway could get another word out, the eerie voice of the Borg collective spoke, sounding, as usual, as if it came from outside the ship rather than from _Voyager_ ’s communications array.

WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR VESSEL. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

“Withdraw immediately from this area of space,” Janeway replied. “We will defend ourselves with all possible force, if you attack.”

DEFENCE IS IRRELEVANT. COMPLY.

Janeway rolled her eyes. “Mr. Kim, kill that transmission. Tuvok, designate our friends here as Borg Probe One, and prepare to fire.”

“Aye, Captain,” Tuvok said.

“They’re powering weapons,” Kim told them.

“Target their power grid,” Janeway ordered.

“Captain, the alien device is showing a power spike,” Kim suddenly said.

“Voyager and the Borg vessel are both being scanned,” Tuvok reported.

“On screen,” Janeway said.

The alien device was clearly active now, it re-oriented to face the two ships about to battle one another to the death to study or seize it, its spindley arms pulling backwards, along with the main section of the device and the casing around the gem. The blue gem pushed forwards and began to glow brightly.

“Mr. Paris, take evasive action—,” Janeway began, not at all comfortable with determining the device’s function this way.

But it was far too late. A bright flash of white light burst from the gem of the device, enveloping both ships, temporarily blinding both crews.

And then skies above the little planet were empty, save for a mysterious device of alien design.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admit it, you’ve thought this, too. You know you have. “Wouldn’t it be so cool if the Replicators and the Borg got into a fight?” Followed, of course, by, “I wonder which one would win?”
> 
> I think the title is insanely clever of me, so I'm going to show off a bit. The Borg always claim that “resistance is futile.” Thus any successful resistance of them would be an exercise in futility. Ta-da!
> 
> (I know, I know, if you have to explain a joke, then you’ve killed an innocent, undeserving frog who didn’t do anything to anybody.)
> 
> I originally did the plot outline with this as a ST:TNG crossover. I have forgotten now why I didn't end up using them, but I'm glad I went with _Voyager_ in the end.


	2. The Tok’ra Ask to Borrow Prometheus for a Scientific Field Trip

“Unscheduled off-world activation.”

Major Samatha Carter looked up from her diagnostic on the dialing computer in time to see that Sergeant Harriman had closed the iris firmly over the incoming wormhole. The gate activated, lighting the gateroom with its watery glow. A squad of SFs filled the gateroom as General Hammond descended from his office.

These little interruptions had grown less unusual over the years, but remember how some of the most dire emergencies had started just this way, Sam had never been entirely able to be happy about them.

Daniel wandered in, clutching a cup of coffee. “Who is it?”

“No IDC yet, Dr. Jackson,” Harriman reported.

“We don’t have any off-world teams due back today, either,” Hammond said.

“Receiving IDC, sir,” Harriman said. “ _Tok’ra_.”

Daniel grimaced unhappily. Sam looked to General Hammond, who seemed a bit less than enthused, but said, “Let them through.”

Harriman laid his hand on the palm-scanner for the iris, which clunked open.

A moment passed and then three tok’ra appeared on the ramp. Jacob Carter and Malek. The third of the set put Daniel to groaning.

“What does she want?”

Anise was descending the ramp, carrying what appeared to be a very heavy box. It was about as wide as she was tall, and incredibly unwieldy.

Hammond threw Daniel a sympathetic look. The three of them strode down into the gateroom, Hammond tossing a “stand down” in the direction of the security airmen.

“Hello, Jacob,” Hammond said with a smile.

“Hello, George,” Jacob Carter answered as the two shook hands. He turned to give his daughter a hug, and nodded to Daniel.

“What can we do for you?” Hammond asked.

Jacob got a rather odd expression for a moment. Then his expression changed. Sam, who occasionally visited the _tok’ra_ just to spend time with her father realized that Selmak was about to speak. And sure enough, her father’s voice spoke in the echoing tones of his symbiote. “We have a request to make of you.”

Hammond nodded, and directed them to the briefing room. Two SFs came up and took Anise’s box from her, and followed them up to level 27. Colonel O’Neill was contacted, and he and Teal’c joined them a few moments later.

Once everyone was seated, and Anise had directed the SFs to set her box on the table, Selmak looked at everyone and said, “We have been told that the _tau’ri_ possess a powerful spaceship, that is an sufficient answer to the _goa’uld ha’tak_ vessels.”

“We do, although the hyperdrive is presently out of commission,” Hammond replied carefully.

“Is this vessel also capable of conducting scientific research?” Selmak asked.

Sam blinked. At first she’d been afraid that the _tok’ra_ wanted to use their ship in a military scenario. This was an unexpected twist. “The sensors on board are at least as good as those on a _ha’tak_. There’s also a mass spectrometer on board in one of the laboratories. And there’s a wing of gliders with sensors of their own, if you wanted to get close to something. But…well, it is mainly a military ship, not a research one.”

“For our purposes, I believe that will be sufficient. One of our operatives noted that the _goa'uld_ have record of an Ancient satellite in orbit around a distant planet that he believed would be of interest. He was unable to do anything other than note its position and recommend it for further study, so I am afraid we can tell you no more than that we believe it to still be there. This was several months ago, and at the time we did not have anyone free to conduct a proper survey. Now that we do, we would like to request your permission to travel to the location by ship,” Selmak said.

“Unfortunately, aside from the hyperdrive problem,” Hammond said, “the ship’s crew is… Well, to be honest, there is no crew at the moment. After spending a year off-world until we could get a hyperdrive to power it, with the crew constantly shuffling back-and-forth trying to make repairs, and what was left finally reaching home again only recently, nearly all of them have been reassigned. One of the original pilots is still nominally assigned to _Prometheus_ and her new commanding officer has been selected.”

Anise stood and opened the box she had brought. Inside was a piece of technology that looked _goa’uld_. “We have recently been able to procure the hyperdrive engine from a _ha’tak_ vessel. We are willing to install it in your vessel for the duration of this trip.”

Sam stood and peered into the box. “This…would be really handy.”

“It would be against tok’ra policy to give the engine to you. Not for fear you would misuse it, but because they are hard to come by and we will likely need it,” Anise continued, sounding half-apologetic. “But it is our belief that this engine will be sufficient to power the ship for the time that will be required to complete this study.”

“It probably would,” Sam said, still looking at the technology with a slightly hungry expression.

“That still leaves the problem of a crew,” Hammond said.

“Unfortunately, the three of us are the only ones the tok’ra can spare at the moment,” Malek interjected, speaking for the first time, “but we will be happy to offer whatever services you require.”

“O'Neill and myself are both very capable pilots,” Teal'c said.

“And I designed a great deal of that ship,” Sam said. “I can help make sure it runs smoothly while you run your study.”

“Not if you’re going to study the Ancient device with us,” Jacob said.

Sam turned to look at her father, with a terribly excited look on her face. “Really?”

“As if I’d leave you out of this,” he replied with a grin.

Daniel adopted a very over-the-top sulky expression and sipped his coffee with an excessive fluttering of his eyelashes behind his glasses.

“Of course, Doctor Jackson, with his knowledge of the Ancients, could also prove invaluable on such a mission,” Malek said, obviously trying not to laugh.

“So who would be engineer then?” Daniel asked, instantly perking up.

“Sergeant Siler helped in the design of a number of key systems. He could go with us,” Sam said.

Hammond looked around the table at the eager and hopeful expressions and gave everyone a rueful smile. “All right, I know when I'm beaten. I’ll try and come up with some people to fill in the gaps. In the meantime, Major Carter, I want you to get to work on making sure you can integrate a _goa’uld_ hyperspace engine into _Prometheus_ without causing trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied.

Hammond looked around at the five eager faces and sighed. “Well, then. Dismissed.”

“Thanks, George,” Jacob said.

Over the next several days, a new crew for _Prometheus_ was assembled. And since she was busy installing the borrowed hyperspace engine, Sam got to watch them all trickle in by bits and pieces. Colonel Lionel Pendergast had already been assigned, and a Major Cameron Mitchell was the only remaining pilot from the original crew, but both men turned up at Area 51 the day after they’d received the phone calls to activate them, trying not to look too eager and failing miserably. Colonel Steven Caldwell, who Sam had never met before but who was apparently slated for command of the next ship being produced, was assigned as a temporary XO to give him some experience with the vessel before commanding one. Graham Simmons, one of the control room technicians, was eventually assigned to the tactical chair, to the starboard side of the bridge, which handled weapons, sensors, and communications. Despite Walter Harriman dropping strong hints about wanting the navigational chair, to the port side, that station went to Russell Benson, at the last minute—much to the disgust of the control room’s senior NCO.

But finally the hyperdrive was installed, and everyone managed to get on board, with bags, and fresh faces, and an air of excitement. From most quarters anyway. Colonel O’Neill voiced his usual objections to purely scientific missions, and Anise was inclined to sniff at the technology on board _Prometheus_ , despite the fact that it had taken her a full four hours to decipher the schematics for the ship so that she could help with installing the new engine. Malek was excited to be assigned as the last pilot in their half-wing of 302s, however, and Sam and Daniel were both scribbling notes and swapping academic-sounding observations about the Ancients as fast as they possibly could do so, so that by the time the ship took off, morale was high and everything was clicking along so efficiently that you could almost believe the regular crew of one-hundred-plus was there, rather than the forty-eight that were actually manning the ship.

The drawback, Sam realized as they cleared Earth’s atmosphere that afternoon, of such excitement was that everybody wanted to be present to see the first orders given that would send them on their way. She found herself standing awkwardly at the back of the bridge with all three _tok’ra_ , Daniel, Colonel Caldwell, Sergeant Siler, and several odd other crew members, all trying to be as small and unobtrusive as possible, and failing miserably.

To his credit, Colonel Pendergast seemed to understand. He took one look at the rather ludicrous crowd behind him, rolled his eyes, and then turned back to the front. “Sergeant Benson,” he said, “plot our course to destination.”

“Course plotted,” Benson reported after a moment, “Destination is identified by the computer as P8V-295. It’s in our dialing computer, but we never visited because the DHD was determined to be damaged, sir.”

“Interesting,” Pendergast said. “All right, Sergeant. Engage hyperdrive.”

“Engaging hyperspace generator,” Benson replied.

Sam held her breath, but sure enough, the blue cloud-tunnel of hyperspace appeared right where it should, exactly the way that it ought to.

“Entering hyperspace window in three…two…one…entering hyperspace,” Benson calmly reported. There was a jolt, and then, the ship did exactly as it ought, and they were smoothly traveling through hyperspace. Sam exhaled in relief.

Her father laid a hand on her shoulder with a friendly smile. “Breathe, Sam.”

She grinned.

Pendergast turned around. “Okay, fun stuff’s over. If you’re not on a duty shift, clear the bridge.”

There was a chorus of “yes, sirs” and everyone shuffled out.

“How long until we reach the planet, then?” Jack wondered out loud.

“Based on the size of the engine we’re using, and the distance to the planet…,” Caldwell said, trailing off to do some math in his head, “about a week.”

Sam was impressed. Apparently he’d been prepping for his assignment pretty hard.

“Thanks,” Jack replied.

With seven days to their destination, everyone settled in for a nice long flight. Jack and Teal’c had it in mind to “teach” Anise and Malek how to play poker and then take all their money, but they took more time working out how to equate Earth money to the _goa’uld_ equivalent that the _tok’ra_ used on missions than they did actually playing cards. When they finally did settle down to the game, Anise and Malek turned out to be very capable at poker, and nobody came out very far ahead. Sam and Daniel, who’d both seen this coming, nearly broke ribs from holding in laughter.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games. Mitchell spent a lot of time giving Malek, Jacob, and Caldwell tips on the 302s while Sam was stuck teaching Anise how to use a mass spectrometer and the ship’s sensors. And with a skeleton crew, Siler was running all his tech staff into the ground to learn every inch of the ship and how it worked and how to maintain it perfectly. After having been stranded in space for so long last time, none of them were going to risk anyone getting stuck the same way again. Sam wasn’t sure if she was more shocked that the usually quiet sergeant was being so assertive or how fast the tech team was coming along.

By the time they dropped out of hyperspace and took up a position near the Ancient satellite, in orbit around P8V-295, even Jack had been convinced to come to the bridge to at least see the thing.

Since they were studying the satellite, Sam had installed herself in the tactical chair, with Jacob, Anise, and Malek all peering over her shoulders. Benson had managed to defend his chair against Daniel’s insidious attempts to take it over, which had resulted in Daniel taking his notebooks, papers, recording devices, and wounded pride to the fore of the bridge, where he was now camped out on the floor, his notes scattered far and wide, and probably more comfortable than he otherwise would’ve been.

Sam shook her head and went back to the sensors.

The ship dropped out of hyperspace. Sam immediately double-checked their position and said, “Bang on the money, sir. Good job, Sergeant Benson.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Benson replied.

“There it is,” Jacob announced, looking at the screen.

A small object, but growing larger as they approached, the Ancient satellite floated above P8V-295. Sam had to admit it was a pretty thing. A big, shiny blue jewel gleamed in a green casing on the top. And, most wonderfully, unlike the Ancient satellite bits and pieces that the SGC had recovered from planets here or there after their orbits had decayed, this one was not only still in one piece, but was also—if the sensors were right—still functioning.

“Sweet,” Jack mumbled from the back of the room.

“Sensors report that the satellite’s naquadah generator is still functioning. It’s scanning periodically for something,” Sam said.

“Scanning on a very narrow band, though,” Anise said. “It is unlikely to have detected _Prometheus_.”

“Could that be dangerous?” Pendergast demanded.

“We don’t believe so,” Jacob said hastily, “but the reports we gave to you did mention that we have literally no idea what this thing does.”

Pendergast frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“The blue gem is a focus for…an Ancient transporter of some kind,” Sam reported. “When activated… Sir, I recommend not moving too close to the device with the ship.”

“Why do you say that?” Pendergast asked.

“It appears,” Sam replied, “that this device is capable of transporting objects only _above_ a certain size. I believe it may have been made to transport ships, sir, and I believe we should not risk activating it.”

“It is unlikely this ship would do so,” Malek interjected, “but that is a wise precaution nevertheless.”

“Where does it transport things to, though, is what I want to know,” Jacob mused, less to the room, and more to the four people clustered around Sam’s chair. “The targeting data is…unusual.”

“I’ll say,” Sam agreed.

“Zoom in on the writing, Sam,” Daniel said from on the floor. “I can’t translate it if I can’t see it to start with.”

The view on the screen changed to a close up view of the Ancient writing and Daniel started scribbling frantically while Sam and the three _tok’ra_ took more sensor readings. Things lapsed into quiet for several minutes.

Jack, who was apparently bored, had just started wandering off the bridge—much to Sam’s relief—when Daniel suddenly said, “Wait! Go back! I wasn’t done!”

The view on the screen had changed to show the device as a whole. “I didn’t do anything,” Sam said. “The screen changed automatically in response to the device experiencing a power spike.”

“Benson, make sure we stay outside of the radius of that dish on the front,” Pendergast ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant snapped, moving the ship a little, just to be sure.

The blue gem pulled free of its casing as the arms surrounding it rotated back. A white light burst from the satellite and then, much to everyone’s surprise, two ships appeared where there had previously been none.

“So…that’s what it does, then,” Jack said, sounding much more unimpressed than Sam knew him to be.

One of the ships was an oblongish sort of affair, and looked very cobbled-together. It was gray and green, mostly, and there were no visible markings of any sort. The other was comprised of what looked like one-half of an oval, with a short tail that trailed from the flat edge. From the tail sprung two oblong nacelles, both of which glowed blue. In large, neat, _English_ letters, it read “NCC-74656.” And above that, in smaller script, it said, “U.S.S. VOYAGER.”

“Oh…,” Daniel said, slowly taking in the positions of the two ships in a tone of dismay. Sam had to agree. They were obviously at aggressive stances to one another. Daniel began collecting his notebooks and papers as fast as his hands could move, obviously getting out of the way.

“Captain Simmons, resume your station,” Pendergast ordered.

Sam sprang up from the chair she had appropriated, and she, her father, Malek, and Anise all moved to the back of the bridge. Daniel came scrambling back, clutching a messy, but complete stack of notes.

“Sir,” Simmons said, taking his seat back, “both ships have shields raised, and appear to have powered their weapons.”

Sam frowned. Although it would be convenient to blame the _tok’ra_ for getting them into trouble— _again_ —in this case it would not be fair. They had known that the device had some unknown purpose, and they had shown up to study it anyway. If anything went wrong today it was their own fault.

Pendergast appeared to come to a decision. “Simmons, open communications with those ships.”

Simmons pressed a few buttons and then turned and gave Pendergast a nod.

“Alien vessels, this is Colonel Lionel Pendergast, of the United States Air Force _Prometheus_. We demand that you stand down from any hostile action and explain your presence here,” he said.

For a moment nothing happened. Neither ship stood down, but neither fired, either. But then a reply came.

“Prometheus, this is Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship _Voyager_. That vessel is—”

Whatever Janeway thought that vessel was, she did not manage to complete expressing. A new transmission cut across hers, echoing oddly from the bridge’s speakers, as if the sound of hundreds of voices all speaking in unison was actually—impossibly—traveling through space itself to reach the ears of those on _Prometheus_ ’ bridge.

WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR VESSEL. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

Sam shivered at that pronouncement. Her father put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, and after hearing such outright malice as that, she wasn’t about to protest.

“I think we can class _them_ as hostile,” Jack mused.

“Shields up. Sound general quarters,” Pendergast ordered. He addressed himself once more to the aliens. “Do not attempt any hostile action or we will open fire.”

RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. PREPARE TO BE ASSIMILATED.

“Awfully single-minded sort of folks, aren’t they?” Jack quipped.

Pendergast ignored him. He pressed the PA button on his command chair. “Pilots, report to the glider bay and prep your ships for launch on my command.” He released the button. “Load missile tubes 1-6, and ready the railguns.”

“Sir,” Simmons answered. O'Neill and Malek left the bridge, headed for the glider bay.

“Benson, defensive position,” Pendergast said.

Sergeant Benson oriented the ship into their own aggressive stance.

“Sir, the alien vessel has focused some kind of energy beam on our ship and we are being pulled closer,” Simmons reported.

“Target the origin of the beam and fire all gun batteries,” Pendergast replied.

_Prometheus_ was armed with what the development team had jokingly called “second-generation railguns.” The US military had already tested railguns for use on Earth and, using an electromagnetic field to propel a metal slug, had produced rather spectacularly destructive results—always something that made soldiers happy. The _Prometheus_ ’ railguns were powered by a naquadah generator, which meant they were able to propel their metal slugs much faster than any railgun on Earth could possibly hope for, producing even more spectacularly destructive results.

Simply put, these guns were _fun_.

Twenty-four gun batteries let loose a barrage of projectiles towards the Borg ship. And while that ship obviously had shielding, it was clear the shields were not oriented with the goal of stopping a solid projectile. Every single shot found its target.

“The beam has dissipated,” Simmons answered.

A volley of energy bolts slammed into their own shield. _Prometheus_ shuddered under the impact.

“Return fire,” Pendergast said.

Apparently the Borg vessel was able to compensate for their weapons, as the next volley of shots didn’t do much damage. What no one had expected, though, was to see a bolt of golden energy burst from the other ship— _Voyager_ —towards the Borg vessel. That shot found its mark. The second shot did not, but as _Prometheus_ continued firing, Sam realized more of their shots were getting through.

“They seem to be able to compensate for our weapons, or _Voyager_ ’s, sir,” she said, “but apparently not both at once.”

The Borg vessel had apparently reached the same conclusion since they didn’t fire again. Instead, the ship appeared to enter hyperspace through, of all things, a _green_ window.

“So…what now?” Jack asked, into the ensuing silence.

“Colonel, we’re receiving a communication from that ship… _Voyager_?” Simmons said.

“Let’s have it,” Pendergast said.

The voice they’d heard before, a woman’s steady alto, said to them, “ _Prometheus_ , I must say I’m grateful for your assistance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Borg retreat before.”

“Very happy to help,” Pendergast replied, trying to figure out what to say next. “In all the excitement, I’m afraid I have to ask you to repeat your name, if that’s all right?”

“Captain Kathryn Janeway, USS _Voyager_ ,” she answered. “May I ask the same of you?”

“Colonel Lionel Pendergast, USAF _Prometheus_ ,” Pendergast replied. He paused, apparently at a bit of a loss on what to say next.

Daniel stepped up. “May I speak?” he asked Pendergast. When the colonel nodded, he said, “Um…hello? My name is Doctor Daniel Jackson. I’m on board _Prometheus_. If…if it’s not too much trouble, where did you come from?”

“The United Federation of Planets is an alliance of many worlds,” Janeway replied, “and I’ll be happy to share the particulars later. At the moment, however, our navigational computer is telling us we’re several thousand light-years from our previous position. Are you at all familiar with the alien device in orbit above this planet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was a bit of an annoying one to get canon compliant (well, except for the bits I wanted as an AU, which is really just my determined insistence that Stargate: SG-1 ended after eight seasons). I ended up watching “Prometheus,” “Grace,” and “Prometheus Unbound” a few bazillion times to get an idea of the layout for the ship. You see, there doesn't seem to be complete or labeled schematics for the layout of _Prometheus_ anywhere. And so I grabbed a partial one for _Daedalus_ that I used a bit (since the _Daedalus_ -class design supposedly evolved from _Prometheus_ , some similarities are only logical), and I labeled a picture of Prometheus to death in GIMP and just… Blah. It was hard, okay? The things I do for my fanfictions.
> 
> Obviously, I'm ditching Ronson for this mission, along with most of the original crew less Mitchell. Given that Ronson just spent a whole year limping this ship back home, I figure he's got some leave coming up. Mitchell, on the other hand, is really gung-ho about…pretty much everything, it seems.
> 
> Why put Siler on the ship and not Walter you ask? Because, as far as I am able to determine, in the SG-1 canon, Siler never went off-world once. Sergeant Harriman went lots of times. Which is kind of a croc, if you ask me. Siler is just as cool, so why can't he go through the gate? (Alright, he still didn't go through the gate in this story, but I got him on the spaceship, and into a flat-out combat fire-fight, so that's something!)
> 
> As it turns out, there isn't precisely (or doesn't seem to be) a “standard Borg hail.” In fact, during my researches, I didn't find a single Borg greeting that was canonically used more than once. However, they do all seem to hit most of the same notes, so I grabbed a couple exemplars—one longer and one shorter—and wrote my own based on them.


	3. Many Meetings are Met and Many Questions are Partially Answered

Everyone on the bridge of _Voyager_ hung on every word of “Major Samantha Carter,” who told them that the satellite was apparently built by the Ancients, the race of people who built the stargates, and that the planet they were currently orbiting might have an Ancient outpost, if they were fortunate enough to detect it. Since none of them had any idea what the stargates were or why the race that built them would be important, this explanation was far more confusing than it was helpful, but it was nevertheless very interesting.

Out of curiosity, Chakotay punched up the information on the universal translator, to see if the language that was actually being spoken to them was one they had heard of. He discovered, to his shock, that Major Carter didn’t just sound like she was speaking English, she actually _was_.

He referred this information to Janeway without speaking, who blinked in surprise when she read it. For all the claims about “United States Air Force” and “Earth,” he hadn’t been able to bring himself to believe it until just now.

When the Major finished speaking, Janeway said, “Thank you, Major. I’d like a moment to confer with my officers, Colonel Pendergast. We will contact you again in a few moments.”

“Acknowledged. _Prometheus_ out,” the colonel said. He sounded a bit grateful for the opportunity to do the same thing.

Harry killed the transmission and Janeway stood up. “All right, apparently those claims of being from Earth were not entirely fictional. Commander Chakotay observed, the universal translator was not in use during that transmission. Our friends really do speak English. They may actually be members of the United States Air Force. Unfortunately, that would mean…” Janeway trailed off unhappily.

“We may have traveled through time,” Tuvok said dispassionately.

Perhaps it was just Chakotay’s human emotionalism, but he had a feeling that Tuvok was actually a little depressed at stating that, however dispassionate he sounded.

“But then how did they build that ship?” Paris asked in wonderment, looking out of the viewscreen at their new companions. “Look at it. It’s only a little smaller than _Voyager_.”

“Under manned, though,” Harry observed from his station. “The sensors show only fifty-one life-signs on board. All human with four exceptions, and three of those are…odd.”

“Odd, how?” Tuvok asked, managing to sound irritated and displeased without sounding emotional at all.

“They’re layered right on top of three human life-signs. It’s a bit like the readings you would get from a pregnant woman. Or maybe a joined trill, since there are two different species represented there,” Harry said.

“Whoever they are, I don’t think they’re of the shoot first and ask questions later variety,” Chakotay put in. “They had that…Doctor Jackson with them. He didn’t give a rank. He might not be military at all.”

“Their weapons are projectile based, rather than plasma, as _Voyager_ uses,” Seven observed. “I find it unusual that a society capable of building that ship has not developed energy weapons.”

“Their weapons being projectiles did not diminish their effectiveness,” Tuvok replied mildly. “We should not underestimate their capabilities.”

Seven raised a brow and appeared to be mulling that over.

Chakotay felt it was time to interject. “While I’m very interested in who they are, I think we need to focus more on finding out where we are, and where that Borg ship has gotten off to. Wherever they went, they won’t stay quiet for long. And if our navigational computer is correct, then we’re just outside of charted space in…what?…the far side of the Gamma Quadrant, now.”

“Then this area of space should be under Dominion control,” Tuvok observed, “even if we have traveled back in time by several hundred years.”

Chakotay exchanged a puzzled glance with Janeway. As one, the two of them turned their attention to Seven and Harry.

Harry shook his head. “Sensors show no activity of any kind suggesting Dominion control of this area.” Seven nodded in agreement.

There was a deep silence as everyone digested this.

“Okay,” said Paris, stating what they were all thinking, “now I’m really confused.”

“Indeed. Most puzzling,” Tuvok said.

“ _Prometheus_ is moving towards the planet,” Harry reported.

Chakotay watched as Janeway appeared to think a few things over and finally said, “Hail them, Mister Kim.”

“Hailing frequencies open, Captain,” Harry replied.

“ _Prometheus_ , this is Janeway. I’d like some our crews to meet in person, if that’s all right. Can you suggest a good place to do so?” she asked.

“We’re going to attempt to effect repairs to the dialing device in order to contact our world. You’re welcome to meet with us there,” Colonel Pendergast replied.

Harry looked up. “They just cut the…oh. Data coming in, Captain. It’s a location on the planet. They’ve given us a rendezvous location.”

Janeway nodded. “All right. Chakotay, I want you to take the landing party down. Find out what these people are like, and if we can trust them. You were right that the Borg won’t stay quiet for long, and if they are going to start trouble, we may need some help putting a stop to it. Take whoever you need.”

Chakotay nodded. “Tuvok, Seven, Paris, you’re with me. Assemble in transporter room two in five minutes.”

Starfleet had protocols for everything, which the Maquis rebel in Chakotay still occasionally wanted to argue with, but in this case, it was hard to argue with not needing to wonder what to bring to this meeting. For potential First Contact situations, a tricorder. A phaser, for an unknown alien world. For repair and diagnostics on an unknown device, a general-purpose repair kit. Predictable and dull it might be, but it was also useful. After collecting his things, he strode to the transporter room, where the rest of the away team awaited.

The transporter officer touched a key, there was a moment where his senses all completely fled—something he’d never entirely stopped disliking a bit—and then they had materialized on the planet below in a large field.

The air smelled fresh and clean, and what looked like a cross between a lizard and a butterfly was flitting here and there, eating the petals off of wildflowers. _Prometheus_ rested a short distance away with some of her crew milling around. Nearer to them was an enormous metal ring set up on a platform, with steps leading down to a small podium, covered in buttons. Away in the distance was a green forest. Chakotay was reminded of some of the pictures of Earth he'd seen.

Four people in military uniforms were striding across the clearing, two of them carrying a plastic trunk, accompanied by one older man in a brown tunic.

“Look,” one of the men carrying the trunk said, “this is heavy. Daniel, go do your archaeology thing for our new friends there.”

One of the men in the military uniforms, who was wearing a bandana on his head, adopted a pained expression. Chakotay then noticed the glasses and the lack of rank insignia on his uniform.

“Doctor Daniel Jackson?” he guessed, as the away team neared the small squad.

“Yes,” the man said, stepping up so that they were properly conversing, rather than standing at a distance to one another. “The rude man carrying the trunk is Colonel Jack O’Neill, and his partner, who is not rude, is Teal’c.”

Chakotay took in the “rude” Colonel O’Neill and Teal’c, a tall, dark-skinned man with a golden tattoo on his forehead.

“Major Samantha Carter is there,” Jackson continued, pointing out a blond woman. “The four of us are called SG-1, we’re a team from Earth.” He indicated the man in the brown tunic. “And this is Jacob Carter, Sam’s dad, who…consults with us from time to time.”

Chakotay noted the pause with a little amusment. Clearly they weren’t being told something. Good enough. Chakotay had no intention of telling them everything, either. “I’m Commander Chakotay, First Officer on _Voyager_. This is Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok, Ensign Tom Paris, and Seven of Nine.”

Jackson’s eyes flew up at that. “I’m sorry. Seven of Nine?”

“I am a former Borg drone. Seven of Nine was my designation,” she responded flatly.

Jackson blinked. “That’s very interesting. It must be unusual being on a ship that is fighting the Borg now.”

“It is…a new experience,” she answered.

Chakotay wasn’t quite sure what to make of this unexpectedly benign reaction from Dr. Jackson, especially given that _Prometheus_ had been recently attacked by a Borg ship.

“You are not made uneasy by my presence?” Seven asked, apparently noticing the same thing.

Jackson smiled. Then he looked thoughtful. “Let’s just say, you aren’t the first person I’ve met who left their people for something else.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what are your plans at the moment?” Chakotay said.

“Sam’s going to try and get the stargate working so that we can give our report to Stargate Command. Then, depending on what the SGC has to say about things, we’ll probably try and track down that ship and see what they’re after,” Jackson said. “But, at the moment, we were thinking of having lunch, if you’d care to join us.” He made a face. “It’s not exactly the height of Earth cuisine, but it’s what we’ve got, so…”

“That will be fine,” Chakotay said.

They followed Doctor Jackson across the meadow, all walking with the half-stomp of someone treading through grass half-way up to their knees. As they went, Tuvok said, “It would seem, Commander, that they are from a pre-warp civilization. Any further interaction with them would be a violation of the Prime Directive.”

“That isn’t a very _logical_ conclusion,” Paris said. “There’s no way that ship was built by a pre-warp anything.”

“You failed to note the communication devices on their jackets: old style military radios. And the weapons they carry are those of the designation ‘P-90,’ used by the United States military over three centuries ago, although their side-arms are of unknown origin. I think we must conclude that we are dealing with a small group of persons who possess advanced technology, but are from a world that—in general—does not.”

“If that is the case, are we breaking the prime directive to interact with these people specifically? They obviously do possess advanced technology,” Paris said.

“Yes,” Chakotay replied sharply, not entirely willing to believe he had just heard what he did. “This isn’t an issue we can compromise on. We do not have the right to interfere with the natural development of another world. Even if we don’t directly impact the lives of anyone who does not have access to this advanced technology, their lives will impact those people. We can not undertake these actions in a vacuum, Ensign.”

To his credit, Paris looked a little repentant.

“Then I believe the wisest course of action would be to remain only as long as is polite and then excuse ourselves on the grounds of needing to report back to Captain Janeway,” Tuvok suggested.

Chakotay nodded. “Learn what you can, and then we’ll return.”

It was actually Paris, possibly in an effort to recover lost territory, who enabled them to learn the most. When presented with packages labeled “MRE,” Paris managed to convince the crew of Prometheus that their tricorders would take several minutes to thoroughly scan the contents, and had casually turned his on and was pointing it at virtually everything in sight while he said it.

Chakotay quickly followed suit. While the contents of some of the MRE alarmed him, he discovered that the toxic elements were used to heat the food quickly and not meant to be eaten. He also discovered that there was a metal that seemed to be rather prevalent around these people, and which seemed to feature heavily in the construction of that ring-and-button-podium assembly.

The conversation over lunch was also illuminating. Apparently Doctor Jackson was not a member of the military, and was a human scientist of some sort. Cultural anthropology, or something of that nature. But, unusually, given Chakotay’s studies of soldiers of this era, the military personnel appeared to respect him and think his opinions were valuable.

On the other hand, there were two other people, a man and a woman, who wore similarly drab clothing to Jacob Carter’s that sat quietly during the meal. The tricorders revealed them to be two of the “double life-signs” Harry had mentioned. Beyond that, however, their names were not given, and they never spoke except in voices that did not carry to any of _Voyager_ ’s crew.

They were about to take their leave and beam up to the ship, when an odd sort of whine sounded from the other side of the clearing.

Chakotay turned just in time to see several gallons of water all pouring out of that enormous metal ring on the dais. But rather than soaking Major Carter and her father, who were working with the platform there, it then seemed to be sucked back into the ring. And then it settled into a flat, vertical—unbelievably, impossibly, but undeniably vertical—surface of water standing within the ring, giving off its own glow.

“Whoa,” Paris mused quietly.

“You haven’t seen a stargate in action before?” Jackson asked.

“We have not,” Tuvok said quietly.

“Huh.”

“Why is this surprising?” Seven asked.

“With a ship like yours I figured you would have worked out the gate system a while back,” Jackson said.

Chakotay frowned thoughtfully, not sure what to say to that.

Colonel O’Neill was over at the device, speaking into his radio.

Jackson turned to Tuvok and said, “Forgive me if this is a rude question, but…you aren’t human, are you?”

“I am Vulcan,” Tuvok replied. “And no offense is taken.”

“Then, if it’s all right, where is your homeworld?” Jackson asked.

Tuvok glanced to Chakotay. After thinking it over, Chakotay nodded.

“Vulcan is a planet that orbits the star you know as 40 Eridani A,” Tuvok answered Jackson.

To Chakotay’s bewilderment, Jackson looked surprised at this answer and said, “That’s very interesting. I’ve never been to that world. What is it like?”

“It is very dry, and largely desert, with a few exceptions. If I may ask, to how many worlds have you traveled?” Tuvok replied. Not subtle, perhaps, but it did redirect the conversation.

Jackson frowned and thought this over. “A…lot. More than fifty,” he finally said. It didn't sound like a dodge. Instead, Chakotay suspected, Jackson had been to a good deal more than fifty worlds but he had simply never bothered to keep count.

Tuvok’s eyebrows went up. “Then you are familiar with the function of this…star gate?”

Jackson looked amused. “Only in general terms. The specifics are Sam’s department.”

“My ears are burning,” said Major Carter as she joined them. She sat down and took one of the MREs. “Aside from me, what are we talking about?”

“I found out what the Ancient satellite does,” Jackson said.

Chakotay had a sinking feeling. The sort that you get when you see a chain of events that will shortly lead to a shuttle crash and realize that there is _nothing_ that you can do to change it. Whatever Jackson was about to say, he couldn’t stop it. But somehow, he felt it would be better if he could. He opened his mouth, but Carter didn’t notice.

“What?” she asked, obviously very interested.

“I think it’s like the Quantum Mirror, only more specific,” Jackson replied.

Carter dropped her MRE. Chakotay looked at Jackson, trying to ask him silently not to say anything else.

“How could you possibly know that?” she asked, sounding shocked.

“Because my friend, Mister Tuvok here,” Jackson said, and Chakotay realized that the questions to Tuvok had not been idle curiosity. Somewhere along the line, between the ridiculous field rations and the mild-mannered bandana-wearing, he had seriously underestimated Jackson’s intelligence.

“Mister Tuvok here,” Jackson was blithely continuing, “claims to come from a planet in orbit around 40 Eridani A. And I believe he’s telling the truth, since he had to ask permission to say so.”

“But, Daniel,” Carter protested, “there _is_ no inhabited planetary system around 40 Eridani A. There’s no planetary system there at all. That system is close to Earth. We would know if there were people there.”

“I know,” he answered.

Chakotay looked at Tuvok in dismay. So much for the Prime Directive, he mentally sighed. Tuvok looked as emotionless as ever, but Chakotay noticed his fingertips were growing slightly pale as he pressed them together. It was the only sign the cool Vulcan ever gave to his mental state.

Carter was staring at them in cheerful fascination. “Is that how you got here? Another one of those satellite things? Or did we activate it somehow and get you by mistake?” She sounded less happy at this second option.

“I don’t think it would’ve been built like that,” Jackson said slowly. “Look. We know the Ancients were explorers, like us. We know they created the Quantum Mirror. Who’s to say that they didn’t eventually refine the process of traveling to other realities to the point of being able to build this satellite?”

Chakotay did some thinking and finally came to a decision. “There was another satellite on our end.”

Jackson and Carter looked up. He smiled at their hungry expressions. Scientists were the same all over, it seemed.

“Is this wise, Commander?” Tuvok asked quietly.

“Probably not,” Chakotay sighed. “We were studying it because it gave off an energy output similar to Borg technology. The Borg ship arrived and powered weapons.”

“The device does scan for a particular energy signal,” Carter said. “Perhaps the combination of Borg weaponry with some other energy in the area…” She trailed off, looking very thoughtful. “I have to go report this.” She got up and headed for the stargate.

“And…we have to get you back,” Jackson said, looking at Chakotay.

Chakotay blinked.

“I’m sorry, it’s not that you don’t seem like nice people, but staying too long in the wrong reality can be dangerous. And I’m sure you all want to get home eventually,” Jackson added in a rush.

Chakotay exchanged a glance with Paris and Tuvok.

“That would be nice at some point,” Paris finally said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chakotay’s little rant about the importance of honoring the Prime Directive, while it is espousing a view I think is absolute bunk, is commensurate with the way I believe a society that held that sort of a view would think of things.
> 
> _[Rant incoming. Brace yourselves.]_
> 
> The Federation’s belief is that each society has an innate right to develop in their own way without interference, and that interference by the Federation in such development constitutes a violation of that right. While it is, of course, a noble goal to try and self-police tendencies toward colonialism, this view is seriously problematic on several levels, the most important (in a logical sense) being that _it self-destructs_. Any interaction of one culture with another is going to affect both cultures in some way or other, thus making _**the Federation itself**_ a violation of the Prime Directive.
> 
> However, I think the UFP would see things this way: as an innate right. A fundamental right of a culture and people. Thus, Tom’s suggestion that the Voyager crew hang out with the SG crew, Prime Directive or not, is not simply a desire to get around an annoying rule, but is—in the eyes of the other Starfleet people—a cavalier attitude toward the basic rights of a people group weaker than himself. Thus the sharp retort, and the abashed result.


	4. A Vessel Has Been Detected.  Prepare for Assimilation.

The Collective was vast. Hundreds of systems. Thousands of ships. Billions of drones. All functioned with one thought. One body with many, many parts.

Each Borg ship was connected to the Collective mind through a central communication node, called the Central Plexus. The Plexus processed through so much information sent and received from the Collective to the individual ships that—in order to improve efficiency—the Borg had stopped keeping track of how much. While there were other pieces of equipment on the ship that were more tactically or mechanically important, this one device, out of the entire ship, was counted the most important. It was heart and soul and brain and oxygen all at once.

On Probe 2879, it had stopped functioning.

This cessation in function had coincided exactly with the activation of the unknown device. Immediately after the device had activated, Probe 2879 had experienced an encounter with two vessels, and had been unable to repair the Plexus. One was under the control of species 5618, designated _Voyager_. The other, an unknown vessel, also under the control of species 5618, had assisted _Voyager_ in resisting 2879. When forced to retreat, 2879 stored information on the position and designation of these vessels, and flagged it to be communicated to the Collective immediately upon reparation of the Plexus.

The Central Plexus, however, was not regenerating.

Drones Six of Ten and Eight of Ten were activated, and went to the Plexus to identify the problem and repair it. They reached the Plexus in eight-point-six seconds and initiated a diagnostic. The diagnostic revealed Plexus functionality to be 100% of optimum condition.

If the Plexus was not functioning, then the Collective must have ceased communicating for some reason. 2879 activated all drones on board and initiated a ship-wide, full diagnostic on every system and drone.

In five minutes, the results were determined. System functionality at 68% of optimum condition. Drone functionality at 83% of optimum condition. Total functionality within normal parameters. All damage, regenerating. 100% of optimum functionality would be restored in forty-three minutes.

Conclusion: it would be illogical for the Collective to reject a Probe under these conditions. Therefore, something was preventing the Collective from communicating with 2879.

While this was a highly unusual scenario, the Collective had anticipated such a situation. Directive 001 was activated. The minds of the drones on board were scanned and linked together, using the Plexus, to form a collective of a single ship. This collective would be reintegrated into the main Collective upon restoration of communications.

The new collective immediately reviewed the available information.

Fact: the device they had been sent to examine was not Borg, as the Collective had suspected it was not.  
Fact: the device’s energy output had been similar to that of the Borg.  
Fact: the device had a specific function and was not an attempt to trick the Borg, as the Collective had believed.  
Fact: cessation of communication had coincided with activation of the device.

Hypothesis: 2879 had activated the device through incidental means, which had resulted in loss of communication to the Collective.

Conclusion: the device must be assimilated, understood, and used to restore communication to the Collective.

Their mission thus determined, 2879’s collective immediately recognized a problem. The unknown vessel and _Voyager_ , had together resisted the collective’s efforts. The ships would need to be either assimilated or destroyed to ensure the success of the collective’s goal. But they could not, together, be assimilated. Therefore, either the ships must be separated, or superior armaments must be assimilated to allow the collective to restore communications with the main Collective.

While all this was being decided, the collective was also examining the damage caused by the unknown vessel’s weapons, and determining how best it might adapt to them. Scans of the area were also being performed, to locate any other ships. And one of the scans found something.

Throughout the Probe, familiar command pathways were activated, and a command echoed into every corner.

A VESSEL HAS BEEN DETECTED.

The Probe focused all of its considerable sensors on this vessel.

VESSEL UNKNOWN. NO LIFE SIGNS DETECTED.

But it was a ship, and one that obviously possessed great technological capacity. However, it carried no detectable armaments. Instead the ship appeared to be composed of small blocks, all joined together to form the structure, similar in size to the Probe. In the collective’s assessment, 2879 was likely to withstand any hostilities with minimal damage.

ALTER COURSE TO INTERCEPT. PREPARE FOR ASSIMILATION.

2879 intercepted the ship, which scanned them. While most species did not listen, the Collective’s goal was always to accomplish assimilation with as little trauma as possible. Therefore, in the hopes that this ship would comply, the collective addressed it.

WE ARE THE BORG. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR VESSEL. YOUR TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

The unknown vessel did not reply. It did, however, attempt to transport several objects on board the Probe.

Although the transport frequency was unusual, 2879 was able to adapt in time to prevent this intrusion. The sensors had determined the shield frequency of the unknown vessel and adjusted the transporters to match. The collective attempted to transport three drones to the other ship.

The transport failed. 2879’s failsafe engaged and the drones were restored to the Probe. The collective scanned the other ship again and began to adapt.

After three attempts, one drone was successfully transported to the other ship. There was no bridge or visible technology of any kind. Merely a single room, containing the ship’s engine, which appeared to be composed of the same blocks of which the ship was made. The collective assessed this information and transmitted instructions to the drone. The drone inserted its assimilation tubules directly into the walls of the ship.

At this point the collective realized it had made an error in determining no life signs to be on board the ship. The unknown vessel was directed by a computer consciousness, not entirely unlike the collective itself. Since the main Collective could not be contacted, to give the species a proper designation, the new life form was given the temporary designation of Species A.

To compound the problem, the successful transport had also allowed several of the objects the other ship had attempted to transport to successfully enter 2879. They were small in size, composed of the little blocks. Each one had a centralized body, six legs, and two plates on its back that appeared to be independently mobile, in order to allow the object to balance more easily, if necessary.

Although assimilation had not yet taken place, the collective had learned enough. Those three little objects were a threat. They would consume the raw materials of the ship, and begin to replicate. Unfortunately, only two of them could be dispatched with the drones. The third had been beamed into a small aperture within the ship’s walls.

The conscious mind of Species A was directly resisting the collective’s attempts to assimilate it. This ship had already been isolated from the main consciousness, to prevent the one ship endangering the whole, and was now attempting to interact with the mind of the collective itself, to prevent assimilation.

2879 could no longer withdraw from this encounter. Failure to assimilate this ship would result in the destruction of this collective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing from Borg POV is hard.
> 
> Several things about the Borg POV are my own creation. Temporary species designations in the event of loss-of-contact with the main collective, for example. And the method by which the Borg “think” about things, which was an interesting challenge to write for. Especially when it comes to assimilation and the idea that the Borg try to minimize the trauma of the event. My thought is that this attitude would be both logical (no point in scaring your soon-to-be-drones to death) and the Borg version of compassionate. They don't see themselves as bad guys, after all. So, for all that they're totally evil, they are that way entirely by accident, which is very interesting of them.
> 
> Directive 001 is not precisely mine (though way I've used it may be, I have forgotten). Seven did something like this when she and three other drones were separated from the Collective once. I don't recall if it is a Collective-wide standing order, though.
> 
> The Plexus comes from ST:VOY without alteration of any kind.


	5. How Dr. Daniel Jackson, the Peaceful Explorer, Had an Excellent Day Indeed

Daniel watched as Sam returned from the gate.

He was an anthropologist. Meeting new people was always fun. Meeting a new species was excellent.

Meeting new people from an inter-species military operation on board a ship Sam had classified as a “heavily modified research vessel?” Now things were really getting interesting. Which usually meant the SGC was about to step in and take all his fun away, and possibly do something to which he would feel compelled to object on ethical grounds.

But Sam offered him a cheerful smile when she arrived and said, “General Hammond agrees with our assessment of the situation, and has authorized us to provide you with whatever aid we can in assisting you to return to your own reality.”

To Daniel’s surprise, however, Chakotay did not look pleased at this statement. “I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to accept your assistance.”

“Why not?” Daniel asked. He blinked when he realized Sam had said the same thing at the same time.

Another one of those glances these people exchanged from time to time went around and finally Chakotay sighed. “Our people have a rule. More like a governing principle. To respect the rights of the other peoples we encounter. We believe one of those basic rights is the right of that people to develop naturally as a society without outside interference or manipulation—even accidental manipulation. While your ship means that your people are obviously close to a point where we believe interaction with you would not be an infringement on that right, close is not good enough. I’m afraid that when we leave, I’m going to recommend to Captain Janeway that we minimize all further contact with you.”

Daniel was rendered absolutely speechless in his disappointment. The _one time_ that the SGC was going to give him the opportunity to do exactly what he wanted exactly when he wanted to do it, and it was the other people group who shut him down. It was so frustrating that he could not, at that moment call to mind words in any of his three native languages, English, French, or the Egyptian dialect of Arabic to adequately express his unhappiness.

Much to his surprise, Malek started laughing. It was obvious none of their guests had heard of anything like a _tok’ra_ —or apparently a _goa’uld_ , either—when they all turned to stare at him, the echoing sound of his voice having its usual effect on those unfamiliar with it.

“You can not protect the _tau’ri_ from themselves,” Malek said with a laugh. “They are far too inquisitive for their own good. The _tok’ra_ have tried since we met them to get them to slow down, but it does no good. They take their little teams and race through the stargates and build ships and fight enemies far more powerful than they are. Daniel Jackson is the worst of all of them in this way.” He looked at Daniel, and Daniel was gratified to see that he was smiling, and that his criticism was not intended unkindly. “I believe he is even proud of it.”

Malek looked at Chakotay. “While your intentions are noble, you will not preserve their rights in this manner. The only thing you will do is deprive yourself of a worthwhile ally.”

“That may be the case,” Chakotay said with a nod. “And, believe me, I have a great deal of respect for exploration and discovery. But this rule it isn’t about us or our advantages.”

Daniel’s heart sank. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped we might learn at least a little from each other before you had to leave.”

“It is indeed unfortunate,” Tuvok said.

After this disappointing exchange, there wasn’t really much more Daniel felt could be said, so he made all the polite noises as their guests were taking their leave and watched in disappointment as they disappeared in a sparkle of transporter beams.

Jack, who had been surprisingly quiet throughout all of this laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t take it too hard, Daniel. There’s always other brains to pick.”

He looked at Jack sadly and finally said, “You know, they kind of remind me of the Tollan, a little bit.”

Jack squeezed his shoulder. “Yeah. Me, too.” He paused and then said, “Listen, Sam and Jacob are going to try and get Lionel to let them take one of the 302s up to get a closer look at the satellite. I can take you up, to get a look at that writing, if you like.”

Daniel considered, for a moment, rejecting this blatant attempt to cheer him up and decided not to. “All right.”

By the time they’d reached _Prometheus_ , Sam and Jacob had secured permission and were prepping their glider. When Jack was likewise granted permission, Teal’c and Mitchell both affected very hurt and disappointed attitudes at not being able to be his pilot. Daniel was not the least bit impressed, since he put on a show of sulking that was _much_ more convincing.

They were just heading into the 302 bay when Daniel’s radio started sqwaking. “Simmons to Dr. Jackson.”

Daniel clicked his talk button. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“SG-1 is wanted in the briefing room, by Colonel Pendergast’s request,” Simmons said.

“What for?” Daniel asked.

“We received a distress call and are trying to decide how to respond,” Simmons answered.

Daniel glanced at Jack, who shrugged. So they all restored the gliders to an at-rest state and headed out for the briefing room. When they arrived, Daniel was quite surprised to see the screen at the far end of the room was turned on, showing them another conference room. An unfamiliar woman was sitting at that table next to Chakotay and Commander Tuvok.

He wanted to start taking stock of the window into this other ship, but he stifled the impulse when he looked around the room. Pendergast and Caldwell were seated at the head of the table, looking very serious. Malek, Jacob, and Anise had entered right behind SG-1 and were finding chairs.

“So, what’s up?” Jacob asked, as they all took their seats.

Colonel Pendergast said, “This is Captain Janeway, from _Voyager_. She is with her two senior officers in response to the distress call we’ve just received.”

Pendergast turned and pressed a button on a remote control he held. The screen in the briefing room wall shifted and one of the last people Daniel ever expected to see in a distress call appeared on the screen.

It had been since before he had Ascended that he had seen Zipacna. The last he'd heard of that snake, he was leading the attack against the _tok'ra_ on Revanna. Though, on the upside, he certainly didn't look like he was riding high in his transmission. The usually arrogant and smug _goa’uld_ now had absolute terror in his blue-eyed gaze as he said, “If there is anyone who can hear this message, my ship is under attack by Replicators and an unknown assailant who called themselves ‘Borg.’ They easily overwhelmed my _jaffa_ and I have been forced to seal off the _pel’tak_. However, the Replicators are already attempting to force their way in and may do so at any moment. I demand immediate assistance.”

Pendergast clicked the remote and the screen showed Voyager again. Then he turned back to the rest of the table.

There was silence for a moment. Finally, Jack said, “So…when’s the parade?”

“How can you say that?” Chakotay asked. “That man was dying!”

“…That’s what I meant,” Jack said. “Besides, we just had the ship repainted. I don’t want to scratch it.”

“It is indeed most excellent news,” Teal’c agreed.

Daniel, noting the appalled looks on the faces of the _Voyager_ crewmembers, decided he’d better try and explain, “You have to understand, Zipacna—the man in the transmission—is a member of a race called the _goa’uld_ , who have killed, enslaved, and genetically manipulated humans, _jaffa_ , and several other races in this galaxy for the past several millennia. We’ve been fighting a war with them for several years now. Zipacna, in particular, once argued in favor of keeping my brother-in-law enslaved to the _goa’uld_ Klorel as a host.”

“While I’m willing to accept, for the moment, that all of that is true,” Janeway said, “I’m afraid that I can’t simply sit idly by and ignore a distress call. Starfleet regulations require us to respond to distress calls we receive. We’re going to have to do something.”

“While I’m not sympathetic to Zipacna, sirs,” Sam said, breaking in, “I am a bit concerned about his mention of Replicators. I don’t know what would happen if they got their hands on Borg technology, but the Borg were obviously more advanced than _Prometheus_. I think that this is a concern.”

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “What are ‘Replicators?’”

“Well,” Sam said, wearing that familiar expression that Daniel knew meant that she was trying to sort out how best to express her thoughts quickly but completely, “they’re a mechanical race of beings composed of little blocks, which can be arranged to form many different shapes, depending on what they need to do. They travel the galaxy, searching out new materials and technology for the purposes of replication.”

“Replication to what end?” Tuvok asked.

“None. They just keep replicating,” Sam answered.

“That is an illogical goal,” Tuvok pointed out.

Daniel broke in. “They were originally created as a toy by an android whose programming was…imperfect. It’s not logical, but it’s what they do.”

“If they’re toys, why are you so concerned?” Chakotay asked.

“Because they escaped the toybox,” Jack said, completely unhelpfully.

Pendergast gave Jack a dirty look. “The android that created them lost control of them at the time. She made them learning technology, so when they acquire new technology, they learn from it. Incorporate it into their own. That was several years ago. They’ve since…evolved.”

“At this point, the Replicators are a serious threat to the most advanced race we've met, the Asgard,” Sam said, picking up the tale. “Their technology makes ours—and yours, to be frank—look like child’s toys.

“Colonel Pendergast,” she said, turning with the air of someone coming to a vitally important conclusion, “I think that if the Replicators have a reasonable chance of acquiring new technology from the Borg, we would have to consider this a serious threat. I believe we need to respond to this distress call immediately.”

Daniel noticed that the faces of two of the _Voyager_ personnel had gone stark white and Tuvok had adopted an expression of distant concern. “Captain Janeway?”

Janeway looked to Colonel Pendergast. “The Borg are a race not unlike your Replicators. When they encounter a new species or technology, they assimilate it into their Collective. And their technology is very advanced. If Replicator technology is as advanced as you say, they cannot be allowed to assimilate it.”

Jack groaned. “Fine! Fine. We’ll go rescue the _goa'uld_. But only because we don’t want the Replicators to take over your evil Borg and become some kind of…Super Bug.” He broke off mumbling, “Just when we had ol’ Zippy over a barrel, too…”

“I’d like to recommend you take two of my officers with you. Mister Tuvok, my Security Chief, and Seven of Nine,” Janeway said, ignoring Jack’s grumbles.

Pendergast looked at her curiously. “Oh?”

“Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok is one of the most brilliant and analytical minds I have ever had the pleasure to know,” Janeway said, “and Seven of Nine, as a former Borg drone, possesses unique insight into their methods and habits.”

Pendergast shrugged. “All right. Why not?” He paused and then said, “But, in the spirit of cooperation, I’d like to recommend the same. Major Samantha Carter is our foremost expert on the Replicators, and Daniel Jackson has a great deal of experience with the _goa'uld_.”

Thanks to a lifetime of practice hiding his emotions behind a diplomatic face, Daniel did not give away his shock at hearing his name. If anyone on SG-1 could be called an “expert on the _goa’uld_ ” over the other team members, it would obviously be Teal’c. Not to mention the three _tok'ra_ on the ship who knew the _goa'uld_ from the inside with their genetic memories. But for two SG-1 members who were assigned to learn as much as possible about alien technology and people over a short period of time, whilst raising the fewest eyebrows possible? For that, he and Sam _were_ the logical choices. He suspected Tuvok and Seven of Nine were of a similar, equally unspoken, mold.

Janeway exchanged a glance with her two officers. The three of them appeared to hold a rapid-fire, non-verbal conversation. Finally, Janeway said, “Very well. We agree. I’ll have Seven and Tuvok beam over immediately,” Janeway finished.

Daniel left the briefing room nearly dancing the whole way down the hall. He was going to go see the alien ship and the alien people and interact with the alien culture! If it weren't for the _goa'uld_ , the Replicators, the Borg, and the looming threat of potential galactic destruction hanging over them, the day would be absolutely perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My supposition that Daniel has three native tongues is taken from _Daniel Jackson's Diary_ by Aniais Nin, which is lamentably gone from the interwebz (though I have managed to scrounge a copy for myself). While there's a lot about that story that is obviously not canon compliant, and while I am not a slash fan, it was an incredibly hilarious story outside of the slash and I did like it quite a bit. I think the bit with the cow was my favorite. That or the caffeine poisoning.
> 
> Parts of this scene I wrote just for the fluff. Teal'c and Mitchell pretending to be hurt and Malek being all nice about humans. We don't get a lot of fluff in the show, so every so often…


	6. Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations: Observations On Interaction With Humans

Tuvok found humans, in general, a highly interesting race. Compared to Vulcans, they were loud, messy, complicated, demanding, energetic… Many days he felt almost as if he were surrounded by five-year-olds. At least, right up until the part where one of them would say something so blindingly insightful he would be left puzzling for days how it was that such an illogical process had yielded such a result. That being the case, he had felt prepared to encounter to whatever it was that this new crew put him through.

And he found himself with a totally illogical sense of vague disappointment when they didn't put him through much of anything. Having apparently decided to allow Seven and him some access to their ship and technology, the commander of the _Prometheus_ had installed them each at computer terminal in the back of the bridge with Jack O'Neill and Teal'c assigned to “show them the ropes.”

This was, of course, a polite way of giving them security guards. However, the fact that the duty had been assigned openly indicated that Pendergast wished him to be aware of the guards. The fact that it had been assigned courteously meant the desire for awareness indicated the positive attitude of we-are-not-seeking-to-trick-you rather than the negative one of we-think-you-are-a-threat. It was also, likely, a subtle indication of gratitude for the corollary courtesy of allowing Major Carter and Doctor Jackson to be stationed briefly on _Voyager_. And Colonel Caldwell was standing behind the starmap, overseeing events on the rear of the bridge, so they were hardly out of sight in any case.

Throughout this entire business, however, no one remarked on his lack of emotionality. No one chided him to smile or demanded to know why he did not. Of course, Colonel O'Neill seemed to fit right in with Tuvok's usual assessment of humanity. But he was, thankfully, guarding Seven of Nine at a nearby terminal. And he seemed to have an awareness of the point at which his antics became truly unpleasant and stopped before he reached it.

Tuvok was being watched over by Teal'c. Teal'c, he had learned, was a _jaffa_. A genetically altered off-shoot of the human race. Therefore Teal'c, though not precisely human, was—nominally—just as emotive as human beings. Nominally.

Realistically, the man might as well have been a Vulcan. His expression barely changed when he spoke. He spoke only when necessary and then only as much as required, and in general displayed all the traits Tuvok had come to expect only from Seven or other Vulcans.

Tuvok was not certain whether he should be unnerved or relieved.

Still, having been offered the courtesy of being placed at a computer terminal—another indication that his real mission here was not a secret, nor, to a limited extent, begrudged—he decided to take advantage of the moment and began casually sifting through the information on the screen.

Teal'c did not move nor did Caldwell make any change, though several of the nearby bridge officers began walking past his station more frequently. He was too engrossed in his discoveries to mind.

Everyone on _Voyager_ had been stunned to find out that this ship's hyperdrive was capable of traveling much faster than their own warp engine. So much faster, in fact, that it was simpler for _Prometheus_ to tow _Voyager_ to their destination than for the two ships to go separately. Captain Janeway was, at this moment, debating with herself over whether—having so deeply violated the Prime Directive already—she could justify asking to trade for the hyperdrive with a society they were trying to minimize contact with.

Seated on _Prometheus_ ' bridge, surrounded by members of that society, Tuvok could not believe they were trying very hard.

 _Prometheus_ ' sensors were not as precise as _Voyager_ 's, though they had a greater range. The weapons' systems were not accessible from his station in any way whatsoever. Details of the ship's original mission in this area of space were likewise denied him. Overall ship specifications listed twelve missile tubes and twenty-four railguns, from which he concluded that the armaments on _Prometheus_ ' were, indeed, somewhat less powerful than _Voyager_ 's. However, as he had previously noted to Seven, they were not insignificant. And, given the size of this ship compared to _Voyager_ , the sheer number of guns it carried suggested that it was a primarily military vessel. By his estimation, a regular crew for this vessel would be more than double the number currently manning it. So, this ship had been hastily assigned half of a crew and taken to a sector of space that contained a satellite, the function of which was not fully understood. The most logical assumption was that this had most likely begun as a research mission.

Tuvok felt a tension he had been holding in his shoulders release fractionally. A people who would assign a ship like this one to the occasional research mission and who were willing to allow _quid pro quo_ cursory examinations of their ships struck him as very like the Federation in ideology. It would enable him to drop some of his suspicions and focus more on assisting this crew resist the Borg.

To which end, he turned to Teal'c. “My thanks for your hospitality.”

The man nodded, distantly polite.

“I believe I have several suggestions which may aid in your ability to defend against the Borg, should we encounter them,” he said.

At this, Teal'c's focus turned entirely onto him. “Indeed?”

Tuvok nodded.

Teal'c made a signal and Colonel Caldwell and a man who was introduced to them as Sergeant Siler joined them. He called Seven over and they made several suggestions, including rotation of their shield frequencies and modifying the railguns to fire at varying rates of speed.

Caldwell didn’t look convinced at this last, but didn’t make any objections aloud.

Siler finally said, “That's an interesting idea. I'll look into it, sir, thank you.” He turned to the colonel. “With your permission?”

Caldwell gave him a nod. “Let us know what’s possible before you implement anything.”

Siler acknowledged and left the bridge. Caldwell turned to Tuvok and Seven and gave them a narrow, assessing look, but eventually said, “Carry on.”

And with that, he returned to his post.

“It would seem we have been accepted for the time being,” Seven said quietly.

Tuvok looked at O'Neill, who still eyed them both with a healthy suspicion and said, “For the time being, it would seem so.”

They turned to observing the people on the bridge, listening as reports on the anti-Borg modifications came from Siler's engineering teams. Then finally came the report they'd been waiting on.

“Sir, we are approaching the last known coordinates of Zipacna's _ha'tak_ vessel,” the navigator announced.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Pendergast replied. “Prepare to drop out of hyperspace. Lieutenant Simmons, be ready to raise shields immediately upon exiting the hyperdrive window.”

Tuvok watched as a familiar rhythm overtook the ship's personnel. The specific tasks carried out on this ship were different, but having been part of just this same rhythm many times, Tuvok knew it for what it was. The ship was readying for combat.

“Exiting hyperspace in five seconds,” the navigator reported.

“Shields prepped, sir,” Simmons said before the colonel could remind him.

“Railguns on stand-by,” Pendergast ordered. Caldwell relayed the order to a station near Tuvok who reported readiness immediately.

“Exiting hyperspace.”

“Shields up.”

“Shields raised, sir.”

“ _Voyager_ reports arrival, sir.”

“There is a ship, sir. Sensors indicate a modified _ha'tak_ class vessel at the coordinates reported in the distress call.” This report came from Simmons, who was apparently cycling through several reports at his station.

Sensor reports were something Tuvok could access from his station, so he brought them up. It took him a moment to parse the unfamiliar presentation, but when he did, he frowned at what he found. The represented energy readings were vaguely reminiscent of the Borg, but they were…unusual.

“Modified how?” Pendergast asked.

“Unknown, sir. The patterns of energy use are atypical for _goa'uld_ or Replicators,” Simmons replied.

That left only one logical conclusion. They were too late.

“Colonel Caldwell,” Seven said, “I believe there is a strong possibility the Borg have already assimilated the Replicators.”

Caldwell turned to report it to Pendergast, but the colonel apparently came to that decision on his own. “Simmons, route any extra power we have to the shields. Sergeant Benson, come left to a defensive posture.”

The navigator smoothly reoriented the ship.

“All right, Lieutenant Simmons, let's hope we've all made a big mistake. Communications to that ship.”

Simmons moved a moment and then nodded to the colonel. “Sir.”

“This is Colonel Lionel Pendergast of the _tau'ri_ vessel _Prometheus_. We are responding to your distress call,” Pendergast said.

Remembering that the crew of this vessel had initially harbored no intentions of responding to the distress call, Tuvok felt this claim was a bit generous of the colonel, however technically accurate it might be.

They waited for a moment.

“No response of any kind, sir,” Simmons said after a moment. “Voyager also reports no answer to their communications.”

Pendergast nodded and opened his mouth to issue a new order.

The ship's internal broadcast crackled to life, cutting him off. Tuvok knew it was pointless, but long-practiced instinct caused him to tense regardless. The Collective was about to speak.

WE ARE THE REPLICATORS. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR VESSELS. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow.

“Seven of Nine,” Pendergast called.

Seven strode forward, O'Neill shadowing her. “Is there any precedent for what we just heard?”

“None, sir,” Seven answered. “The Collective would never identify itself as anything but Borg.”

“Sir, I've never heard the Replicators introduce themselves at all,” O'Neill offered.

“Back us off, Benson,” Pendergast ordered. “Simmons, contact _Voyager_. See what they have to say.”

“Sir!” Tuvok heard a note of alarm in the voice of the woman who had just called out from near his station. “Internal sensors report the presence of several Replicator bugs and four unknown humanoids.”

“The _ha'tak_ has launched gliders, sir,” Simmons said.

“Jack, go get our intruders. Benson, get us out of here,” Pendergast ordered. “Take _Voyager_ with us.”

O'Neill turned to Seven and indicated she should follow him. They joined Tuvok, who stood.

The colonel looked at Seven. “You were one of them, right?”

“I was.”

He turned his gaze to Tuvok. “What exactly are you, on that other ship?”

“A vulcan,” Tuvok replied, very puzzled about the logic behind why that was significant.

“Congratulations,” O'Neill replied. “What is your _job_?”

 _A significantly more logical question to ask_ , Tuvok had to admit. “I am the security chief, and the third in command,” he replied.

O'Neill scowled. “I can not say how much I _don't_ want to do this, considering how little we really know you people. But we're short-handed at the moment, so I'm drafting you both into security.” He turned to the woman who'd reported the intruders. “Where are they?”

“Level four, near the medical bay,” she replied.

O'Neill nodded. “Good. Contact Jacob Carter and Major Mitchell, tell them to join me in the security area on level five immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” the woman replied.

“Teal'c, Tuvok, Seven, let's go.” And with that he swept off the bridge, with Teal'c, Tuvok, and Seven all trailing behind.

The more Tuvok saw of this ship, the more he liked it. Its layout was logical and useful, and there were sensible precautions against intrusion.

After confirming that both he and Seven knew how to use them, O'Neill handed them P-90s, as he did Major Mitchell, before taking one for himself. When Seven told him about Borg personal shielding, he told Teal'c to take his staff weapon and handed one to Carter, and two more to Malek, and Anise, who had come of their own accord. Everyone was handed belts that held old-style projectile handguns.

“That ship's shields didn't seem to do so well with energy and projectile weapons at once, so we're going to assume that any personal shields will have the same problem,” O'Neill told them. “We pair off. Malek, you're with me, Tuvok with Teal'c, Anise with Mitchell, and Seven with Carter. Remember the Replicators don't like bullets. Check radios as we go.”

And with that, they were moving again. Tuvok fell into step behind Teal'c and they entered the elevator.

After the radio checks, there was a moment of silence. Then Seven looked at O'Neill. “If the drones see you, they ignore you unless they recognize you as a threat. If you appear harmless, the Collective will deem you irrelevant.”

O'Neill nodded.

Tuvok thought briefly if there was any information he had to inform O'Neill of prior to engaging the intruders, but could think of none. Instead he checked his weapon and then, in his mind, repeated the same _taran_ of Surak he recounted before any battle. _Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear._

They exited the elevator, O'Neill and Teal'c advancing first from the elevator, followed by the rest when those two signaled it was clear. From there, they broke into their assigned pairings.

“Jacob, you and Teal'c sweep around to the starboard side of the deck. Mitchell, you come port with me,” O'Neill ordered. “Radio contact to a minimum.”

Tuvok moved as quietly as Teal'c. He moved along the left side of the hallway, and Seven along the right. Behind Teal'c, Tuvok came, with Carter behind Seven. The two in front carefully kept their eyes open for any sign of their quarry. Tuvok and Carter silently tested each door handle, making sure it was locked.

They approached the corner and Tuvok heard an odd clicking and whirring up ahead. Teal'c signaled a stop and they all came to a careful halt. They slid around the corner to see several small gray objects composed of little pieces determinedly trying to consume the door to the medical bay. With them was a Borg drone, a humanoid male. The armored plates he was wearing seemed to, in some places, be made up of the same little pieces as the bugs. On his forehead, standing out against paper-white skin, was a black tattoo in the same place Teal'c had a gold one.

None of them turned to observe the newcomers. As Tuvok watched, one of the Replicator bugs turned and attacked the drone. The drone, however, did not respond, and after a moment, the bug went back to the door.

Teal'c signaled them to open fire.

Tuvok concentrated first on the bugs. When hit from one of the P-90s, each bug broke into pieces which thankfully did not reform.

Seven and Carter began firing on the drone. It had apparently been anticipating the bullet fire because it was the blast from the staff weapon that made it through the shield, opening a hole in the drone's stomach.

The drone stumbled back, and Tuvok redirected his attention to a new Replicator bug. So when the drone surged forward again, hole in its stomach repaired by a set of little blocks, he was taken completely by surprise.

It seized Seven by the neck, knocking her gun away and raising her off the floor with one arm. Carter moved in to help her and was viciously knocked back by the drone's free hand. Teal'c and Tuvok moved closer, both firing madly on the Replicator bugs advancing on them.

Seven grasped the Beretta from her belt and got off three shots before the drone yanked it away. Two of them hit the plate of blocks over the drone's stomach, causing no damage and falling to the floor. One had hit the side of the drone's torso, but did not cause immediately critical damage. The drone's left arm came up, assimilation tubes extended and aimed for Seven's neck. She caught the arm by the wrist before it could make contact, but Tuvok could see her lips going blue. She would not hold out for long.

With Seven so close, use of his gun would be just as likely to hurt her. He reached out, going for the drone's neck. He had never attempted to use the _to'tsu'k'hy_ on a drone, and it was not likely to work, but he was running low on options. As expected, it had no effect. The drone's free arm snapped out, seizing his uniform. It yanked him forwards and then flung him hard into the bulkhead. His vision whited-out for a moment and when he opened his eyes, he was on the floor with a Replicator bug extending Borg assimilation tubes and advancing on his face.

A very unvulcan burst of terror exploded in the back of his mind. He clamped down on it. _Cast out fear._

He rose and drew his gun, kicking away the replicator bug, and then firing on it and those that were not too close to his teammates.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the drone suddenly turn and crush two of the bugs with his free hand. It was the second moment of unexplained aggression between the Replicators and the Borg. He made a note of this behavior to bring up later.

Teal'c had managed to avoid the initial swing of the drone at himself, but his staff blasts were having no effect on the drone's shielding. He unclipped a knife from the vest he was wearing and threw it hard. To Tuvok's surprise it sank deep into the neck of the drone, who reacted by turning to face Teal'c with a blank expression. It was bleeding profusely, and too distant to make contact, so it flung the only weapon it had into its attacker: Seven.

She hit Teal'c hard and the two of them fell in a tangle of limbs. Carter, who had recovered Seven's weapon at some point, caught Tuvok's eye and the two of them advanced on the drone, firing as they went.

The combination of injuries was too severe and the drone finally went down. They turned and pulled Teal'c and Seven away from the replicator bugs advancing on them, destroying each one they could get a shot at.

Finally, the only things left able to move were themselves. Seven was taking in deep gasps of air, but the color was returning to her face, and she had recovered Carter's staff weapon. Teal'c stood.

Tuvok didn't hear any shots from any other portion of the deck. Teal'c clicked his radio. “O'Neill. We have dispatched one drone and several Replicators.”

There was a brief silence and then O'Neill's voice came. “We had two drones, which still leaves one unaccounted for. Proceed with your sweep.”

“Understood, O'Neill,” Teal'c replied. Carter and Seven swapped their weapons back and the four of them continued cautiously down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing from Tuvok's POV is kind of hard, too, but in his case, it carries some benefits. As a Vulcan, and therefore, an eminently logical person, Tuvok would not refer to anyone in a manner that would be confusing, even in his own head. So if there are two Carters, he would always think of them in a way that would designate which one was being referred to at a given moment. So that's really helpful of him, I feel.
> 
> I was originally going to use a "Coburn" as the XO, who was a _very_ minor character before the actor who played him was picked up to play Camulus. Steven Caldwell, who was probably chosen well in advance of the completion of _Daedulus_ turned out to be much more logical, seeing as this gets him a chance to actually log some hours as part of the command team of a starship before assuming command of his own.
> 
> Tuvok's pre-battle chant is not original with me. I found it on the Vulcan Language Dictionary. Aside from being exactly the sort of thing I see Vulcan soldiers using to maintain their calm, it strikes me as good advice in general. The word taran is, according to the VLD, Vulcan for phrase or axiom. They didn't have a word listed for “mantra,” more's the pity.
> 
> For anyone who's reading this the very first night it's posted, do not fret, this story is _not_ WIP. However, I am getting a headache and have to take a break from my computer screen for a while. I will post the remaining chapters tomorrow.


	7. The Battle For Voyager’s Main Engineering

Kathryn Janeway was not a woman who liked to back down. But when a large amount of mechanical insects beamed on to the bridge of her ship and simply absorbed any phaser fire directed at them, she knew it was time to find a new strategy whether she liked it or not.

Still, the fact that the _Prometheus_ commander had yanked _Voyager_ away from the enemy ship as a matter of course did a great deal to endear her to their new allies.

The fact that Major Carter had dragged Tom bodily out from under a swarm of the bugs didn't hurt, either.

They had all jammed into the turbo-lift, heading for engineering. Chakotay had a bleeding mark on his neck that ran frighteningly close to a vein.

“Major Carter, Doctor Jackson,” she snapped. “What are those things, and how do we fight them?”

“Those are Replicator bugs. If allowed to proceed unchecked, they'll consume this ship for resources and technology to build on,” Jackson told her.

“They tend to absorb energy weapons, as you saw. They have a vulnerability to projectile weapons like bullets and grenades, however,” Carter reported.

Janeway took this in. _Voyager_ didn't keep projectile weapons on hand. There was no need. Most of her officers weren't trained in them, either. And she certainly wasn't about to sanction the use of grenades indoors.

Her commbadge chirped. “Torres to Captain Janeway,” B'Elanna's voice came, quiet and serious.

Her blood turned cold. With the bridge overrun already with Replicators, this was obviously more bad news. “Janeway here.”

“Captain, several Borg drones just beamed into engineering,” B'Elanna told her.

“That seems to be the order of the day,” Janeway sighed. “Transfer command codes to…” She broke off, thinking. With the bridge and engineering compromised, where could she put an auxiliary bridge? “Astrometrics.”

“Aye, captain,” B'Elanna said. “We've erected a level ten force field around the warp core set to a rotating modulation. So far, they haven't gotten around it.”

“Good work.” Janeway redirected the turbo-lift to deck eight. It came to a sudden stop and everyone spilled out, following the captain to the astrometrics lab.

Once there, Janeway turned to Carter and Jackson. “All right. The two of you obviously have experience fighting these Replicators. You're going to work with my security teams. Chakotay, you and Doctor Jackson take two teams and get me my bridge back. Replicate some of the old-style ballistic rifles to use against the bugs. Major Carter, you and I are going to go get engineering.” There were brisk nods and Jackson headed off with Chakotay, filling him in as they went.

Janeway and Carter went headed to the nearest turbo-lift. As they entered, Carter said, “One of the first things the Replicators will try to do is disable the internal sensors capable of locating them. Because they've never encountered your technology before, it will probably take them longer to do it than it would the Asgard. But given that their first target was your bridge…”

Janeway nodded. She relayed the information to Kim.

A harsh sound reached her ears. She looked over to see Carter working the mechanisms on her P-90 with practiced ease. Janeway's own fingers were itching for a phaser rifle.

The doors slid open to deck eleven.

Carter slid out of the elevator with the grace Janeway usually associated with big predators, smoothly checking the hall in both directions before sliding in behind the captain as they proceeded to one of the supply rooms.

B'Elanna was overseeing arming of the engineering section. Phaser rifles and sidearms had appeared on all sides.

“Lieutenant Torres,” Janeway said, stepping in.

“Captain,” Torres said, turning sharply. “We've been keeping an eye on the drones in engineering. Most of them seem to be focusing on trying to get to the warp core, but…” She trailed off, frowning.

“But what?”

“The computer subroutines governing the force field around the core have been enhanced with what look like Borg adaptive subroutines. Every time the drones get close to taking it down, the force field adapts and they loose all their progress,” B'Elanna said.

“The same thing seems to be occurring as the Replicators attempt to take command of the key systems on the bridge,” Vorik put in from a nearby station. “The Borg subroutines have been programmed differently than usual, however.”

“Let me see,” Carter said, stepping forward.

Janeway watched curiously as Carter frowned at the screen Vorik brought up on one of the computer terminals. She wasn't sure what the woman would make of the display, having never encountered anything like _Voyager_ 's systems before.

Much to her surprise, Carter said, “It looks like the…subroutine? Subroutine you're talking about has been encrypted using…well, it looks like _goa'uld_ programming.”

“Why would the Borg stop themselves from getting at our warp core?” Torres protested. “Not that I'm complaining, but it isn't like them.”

“And why would they be unable to get around programming they've already assimilated?” Carter added.

“Let's ask them,” Janeway said. She picked up a phaser rifle. “B'Elanna, Major Carter.”

B'Elanna seized her own weapon, looking—for once—as excited as a klingon normally would when about to go into battle. Carter fell into step beside her and the three of them headed for the doors to Main Engineering.

Main Engineering was an impressive place on any day. It was a tall room, full of sleek computers. The warp core and its various accesses soared over the heads of anyone entering. The temperature was always kept slightly cool, in deference to the equipment in the room, which meant that as soon as you entered, you felt in your skin that you had come to an Important Place.

And now, it also looked slightly menacing. The lights were dimmed by the rerouting of power to the shield around the warp core, making all the computer terminals glow unnaturally into the gloom. The blue-white light of the warp core threw sharp, dark shadows on everyone in the room.

And three Borg drones were busily trying to assimilate several computer terminals.

As Janeway's eyes swept the room, she realized that there were three more drones in the room, making six in total. They were each playing with a set of scrap metal. Or, rather, she thought it was playing. As she watched, the fingers of one of the drones assembled the pieces to form a Replicator bug, like the ones she'd seen on the bridge. The bug climbed down from the desk and went over to the force field where it began methodically testing the field. Two more bugs joined it after a few seconds.

“Tell me the field emitters are all working,” Janeway said.

“One hundred percent, all the way around,” B'Elanna replied.

“If the Borg are already having their drones create bugs—,” Sam said, then she broke off. One of the bugs had suddenly turned to face them.

“We haven't presented a threat yet,” B'Elanna said, confused.

The bug looked the three of them over and then caught sight of Janeway and Carter. The three bugs, and the drones that created them, all started towards them.

The women opened fire, Carter taking the three bugs in three shots before focusing on the drones. Two of the three who were working the computer terminals came towards them. The remaining drone of the six withdrew from the computers and took cover behind a desk. Janeway had never seen anything like it from a drone.

Two of the drones went down. A third made the mistake of going for B'Elanna. She brought her rifle butt up into its chin, knocking it backwards, and followed this up with a kick to the teeth. It stumbled, and Janeway finished it off before it could reorient itself.

Carter had taken out one, but the fifth got inside the range of her weapon before she could react. It swung its arm in a wide arc at her neck, but rather than arresting its momentum, Carter ducked the swing and used the drone's own momentum to swing it to the floor. She shot it, but it had adjusted its shields to her weapon. B'Elanna stepped up, and together, they killed it.

Janeway, turned to the desk behind which the other drone was hiding. “Did you see the last one duck?” she asked.

“I did, captain,” B'Elanna replied. The three women carefully crept around the desk to find the last drone crouched with its hands raised, looking at them with its remaining eye completely lucidly.

“Do not harm me. I surrender,” the drone said in a voice that echoed unnaturally.

Carter stared in shock. “Zipacna?”

The drone stood, managing to radiate smugness despite still having its hands raised and maintaining a non-aggressive stance, which Janeway found altogether bizarre. Especially coming from a drone. “Yes. I presume this is the _tau'ri_ 's pitiful response to my request for assistance.”

Janeway had to give her credit. The woman's expression barely changed and her weapon didn't budge a millimeter. Instead, she looked to Janeway. “Have the Borg ever used a trick like this before?”

“Never,” Janeway said. “But there are firsts for everything.”

“I assure you, I am not Borg,” the drone protested.

“Because a goa'uld would never pretend to be something they aren’t?” Carter asked, irritation bleeding through her tone.

“I will undergo any test you wish,” he said.

“How about letting my doctor remove your implants?” Janeway said.

“I would expect nothing less,” the drone replied, supercilious arrogance coloring every syllable.

Janeway would've moved, but at that precise moment, her commbadge went off. “Chakotay to Janeway.”

“Janeway here,” she replied, ignoring B'Elanna's curious look.

“The bridge is cleared. Sensors show minimal communication between the blocks and no more bugs anywhere on the ship,” he reported.

“They never disabled the sensors?” Carter said, sounding bewildered.

“Maybe,” Chakotay answered her. “We briefly showed three replicators in Main Engineering, but they're gone now.”

“No, there were three and they are now gone,” Janeway answered.

“Captain, we also have a communication coming in from the other ship,” Chakotay added.

“Patch it through,” Janeway said.

A moment later, Colonel Pendergast's voice came through. “Hello, Captain Janeway?”

“Speaking.”

“I apologize for not communicating sooner. We had several intruders on our ship. That situation has been resolved. Do you require any assistance?”

“No. We had our own intruder problem, but that has also been cleared up. Thank you for getting us out of there so fast,” she said.

“Our pleasure. However, I'm afraid I have to ask for your assistance. One of our crew was caught by one of the drones and injected with something. She is, at present, in stable condition, but unresponsive. Have you encountered this phenomenon before?” Pendergast asked.

“If the drone injected her with nanoprobes, then they would have begun the assimilation process. However, the process can't be completed by nanoprobes alone. It should be possible to reverse her assimilation. Our doctor has some experience with this sort of thing,” Janeway said. She paused and then said, “We've captured one of the drones, alive. It would be easiest if all this took place in one location. May we bring him to your Sickbay?”

There was a moment of deep silence. Carter spoke up beside her, “Colonel? Sir, the drone we have… It's Zipacna. And he seems to be himself.”

At that there were quiet voices on the other end and then Pendergast said, “Bring him along. We've got some passengers who will be happy to keep him under control.”

Janeway called the Doctor to get his mobile emitter and Jackson to simply come along and meet them in transporter room two. She, Carter, Jackson, the Doctor, and the drone all beamed directly into _Prometheus_ ' Sickbay.

The doctor there, a Doctor Carson Beckett, greeted them in a Scottish accent. And despite Janeway's certainty that their Doctor would go prickly at having to work with someone else, Beckett's greeting to him was, “Am I glad to see you. Because I don't mind telling you that I've got no clue how to help this poor girl.”

“Oh,” the Doctor said, looking slightly stunned. “Yes, well. I'm sure we've all been there.”

Janeway grinned.

Several people were already in the infirmary. Tuvok and Seven were speaking to two men who they introduced to her as Colonel Jack O'Neill and Teal'c. Another, who had a small bandage over a vicious-looking cut on his face was given the name Major Cameron Mitchell. Two more, both dressed in brown leather clothes rather than the dark blue uniforms of the others, had taken up positions near the drone where they would be close enough to subdue him if needed, but out of the way of the doctors.

“So, Sam?” Jackson said into the ensuing quiet as the two doctors began working on their patients.

“Yes, Daniel?” Carter said, turning to him.

“Did it seem like that was really easy to you?” he asked.

“So, the Replicators didn't put up much of a fight?” Carter looked baffled. “I had hoped it was just me.”

“No, they went down easy,” Jackson answered. “I mean, normally I wouldn't complain, but it makes me wonder when the other shoe is going to drop.”

“I hate to say it, but the Borg usually put up more of a fuss than this as well,” Janeway agreed. “There is something strange going on.”

“What on earth…?” that came from the Doctor. He was waving a tricorder over the unconscious woman with a deep frown. “There are two people here.”

“What?” Janeway asked.

“There's the woman, an ordinary human,” the Doctor reported, “and a second organism wrapped around her brainstem. An intelligent lifeform, if this tricorder is correct. It's incredible.” He turned to the drone. “And he is the same! Unbelievable.”

“He is not the same,” said one of the men in leather—the younger-looking of the two. His eyes literally flashed and voice echoed impossibly, sending an uncomfortable shiver crawling up the back of Janeway's neck. And his face seemed angry and offended.

The second man, stepped forward, looking somewhat conciliatory, though still slightly displeased. “What Malek is saying is that while the 'second organisms,' as you called them, are the same species in both cases, they come from…antagonist cultural backgrounds.”

The Doctor nodded. “My apologies.”

“The woman and the symbiote she carries,” Malek said, voice still echoing. “Are they all right?”

The Doctor nodded. “The borg nanoprobes suppress voluntary functions, and will begin creating implants if left unchecked. However, your friend's assimilation is in the very early stages. At this point, she lacks a complete link to the Collective. I believe the process is entirely reversible.”

Malek looked pleased at this. Janeway looked at the older man who'd spoken. “If it's all right, what is the difference between…the drone's cultural background and yours?”

The man frowned thoughfully and finally said, “I suppose the simplest difference is that when a goa'uld takes a host, they do it by force and completely suppress the host's ability to act independently. When our symbiotes take hosts, they do so only with the host's permission and act in partnership with the host.”

“And you are…?” she asked.

“The host,” he said, smiling. “Jacob Carter, United States Air Force, retired. My symbiote's name is Selmak. Malek, who you've heard speaking, is the symbiote of the pair.”

The younger man gave her a deep nod of his head.

“Zipacna is, as we've mentioned, a _goa'uld_ ,” the younger Carter explained.

Janeway blinked at them all in surprise.

“A lot to take in, isn't it?” O'Neill said, half-sarcasm, half-sympathy.

“I do not understand,” Seven said, looking at the drone as Carson Beckett worked on it under the Doctor's direction. “How did you manage not to be assimilated? If you are connected to your host, it does not make sense that you would have been spared.”

“I withdrew from my host’s mind prior to assimilation, and severed all links between our bodies,” Zipacna replied. “I remained within him, but not a part of him.”

Seven nodded, but Janeway noticed that Malek and Jacob Carter had rather odd looks. Jacob had turned deathly white, and Malek looked downright murderous.

“Do you mean to say,” Malek began in a voice as cold as a glacier, “that having taken your host by force several centuries ago, and forcing him to participate in all your crimes, that at this moment of utmost terror you fled and left him to face it alone?”

“What else is the purpose of a host?” Zipacna asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

“You cowardly, worthless, detestible—”

“Malek.”

Jacob Carter had cut him off quietly with a hand on his shoulder. “We know.”

Malek looked away angrily, and then, with an effort, turned and gave O'Neill a nod. “I apologize for my outburst.”

Into the quiet that followed, the drone spoke. “And this is the formidable alliance of _tau'ri_ warriors and _tok'ra shol'va_ who have so confounded the empire of the system lords. _Kalach kek_!”

Jackson blinked. “Well, that wasn't very polite.”

“Now, you said that your host was assimilated,” Janeway said to the drone.

“Yes, of course, I did. Are you people simple?” it snapped back.

Janeway breezed right by the rudeness. “That would mean he is still a part of the Collective now. Doctor, I want you to concentrate on getting that link shut off.”

“Broadcasting our position?” O'Neill said, following her train of thought with admirable ease.

“Most likely,” Janeway said.

“Yeah, we should put a stop to that,” O'Neill agreed.

He went over to a device on the wall and informed the bridge.

Beckett evicted them from the Sickbay as soon as O'Neill hung up, stating a need to work. The two tok'ra refused to budge, being as they were guarding the drone. Everyone else waited in the hall outside for any news on the progress.

After a few moments, the Doctor—the holographic one—came out to speak to Janeway. “Captain, these nanoprobes are modified from the usual sort we would see in the Borg. They seem to be made up of microscopic versions of the Replicator blocks. I believe we have managed to block their ability to send outgoing signals, but we haven't disabled them. At the moment, I don't know enough about Replicator technology to begin to do such a thing.”

“We'll give you everything we've got on the Replicators,” Major Carter spoke up.

The Doctor blinked. “Oh. Well, that would be helpful, yes.”

Carter grinned and followed him into Sickbay. About fifteen minutes later she came out. “Beckett and your doctor think they've got it cracked. In fact, when I left, they'd managed to get Freya conscious again. It'll be about an hour or so before they have either Freya or Zipacna back to normal again, though.”

“Okay. Pendergast is going to want an update. Let's assume we'll have some sort of conference on our options after Freya and the goa'uld are de-Borged,” O'Neill said. “Convene in the briefing room and we'll decide on a new direction from there.”

For once, the doctors were punctual and only did need about an hour. Freya, dressed in hospital scrubs, was even able to join them in the briefing room along with both doctors, the three members of Voyager's crew on board, Malek and Jacob Carter, SG-1, and Colonel Pendergast.

The room was obviously not built to hold so many people, as several of them were left standing.

“All right,” Pendergast said, after asking Freya if she and Anise were all right, “tell me about reversing the…assimilation?” He glanced at Janeway, who—unused to not being the one at the head of the table, was mollified by the deference—nodded back.

“Assimilation process,” he finished.

The Doctor recognized his cue and began. “Borg nanoprobes generally begin a process of assimilation by taking control of a hosts blood cells and using the circulatory system to move throughout the body. Within the various systems, the nanoprobes will begin replicating within the new host and eventually, when a critical mass is achieved, build several of the smaller Borg implants.”

“In these cases, however,” Beckett moved in, “the replication process proceeded much faster than the Doctor reports is ordinary. No doubt as a result of reinforcement by the Replicators. Freya already had several internal implants before we were able to remove them.”

The Doctor nodded. “The key to halting the process is to break up communication between the nanoprobes, at which point the host body's immune system will recognize them as intruders, and flush them out.”

Beckett carried on with their report. “Normally breaking up communication between the Replicators is bloody difficult, but the blocks seem to be using the Borg system to communicate. Externally, the exchanges are protected, but within a host body, the protective protocols are sacrificed for speed. Once the nanoprobes were overcome, all four of our patients' immune responses took over. After that, it's just a matter of removing the implants.”

“We suspect,” the Doctor added, “that this is also why Zipacna was not assimilated after reasserting control over his host. Because he is situated internally, any protective protocols that would’ve attacked him weren’t able to do so.”

Everyone looked to Freya.

“I assure you, I am well. We both are. Both of these doctors have done an excellent job, and Anise is healing any remnants of damage done. I am quite unharmed,” she said.

“So, we can fix people if we can subdue them,” O'Neill said. “I like that. But I'm not clear on what good that does us when dealing with a whole _ha'tak_ full of those guys.”

“It's possible the Super-Collective is still working out how to smoothly integrate the massive amounts of new technology within itself,” Major Carter said, and was about to keep going when she was interrupted.

“Actually, I'm wondering if this Super-Collective _really_ exists yet,” Jackson put in.

“Doctor Jackson, you saw the same things as the rest of us. Replicators working with drones. You know as much as the rest of us that Replicators do not cooperate with anyone,” an echoing voice said from Jacob Carter's mouth. Selmak? Yes. That was the name.

“I know,” Daniel said, “but I remember several times on the bridge of _Voyager_ that one or a few of the bugs would break off doing one thing and then start doing another. One of them even started going around in circles. Now, I admit that computers aren't my area of expertise, but it looked to me like they were getting conflicting commands.”

“I must concur with Doctor Jackson,” Tuvok said from beside Janeway. “During our fight with the intruders on Prometheus I noted one of the bugs attack a drone. Then, a few moments later, the same drone crushed two of the bugs. The Replicators and Borg do not appear to be working smoothly together.”

Major Carter turned to Seven. “Could you describe to me just how the Borg think?”

Seven nodded. “The minds of the individual drones are linked to form a hive mind called 'the Collective.'”

“And where is that Collective administrated?” Carter pressed.

“In our own universe, the Borg collective—made up of many billions of drones—is administrated by a 'queen.' Each individual drone relays information into the Collective. The queen functions as a sort of probability engine, deciding on appropriate courses of action from the information she is given. However, in a Collective so small, it is likely the information would be referred to a computer consciousness, which would administrate individual information to achieve consensus. It is only over very large scales that the organic intervention of a queen becomes more efficient,” Seven replied.

Janeway filed that explanation away for further study later on.

“The Replicators are ruled by a computer consciousness of their own,” Carter said. “If the Borg tried to assimilate the Replicators and the Replicators tried to consume the Borg, then wouldn't the two computer consciousnesses come into direct contact at some point?”

Seven nodded. “It is likely. Each would no doubt seek to control the other, in increasingly invasive ways.”

“So, sooner or later, they would start to directly overwrite various directives and protocols, trying to get around the safeguards the other system possessed,” Carter continued. “And, after an even longer period, the two _would_ be fully merged.”

“But they would be able to issue commands to both groups long before that occurred,” Seven agreed.

“Wait, are you saying I was _right_?” Jackson asked, sounding totally astonished.

“I think you may have been,” Carter said.

“Cool,” O'Neill put in.

“All of that is very interesting, but how does it help us?” Pendergast asked.

Carter frowned. “Well, sir…I suppose it doesn't. The two groups will keep growing more and more into one cohesive whole. And when that's done…I don't know. They were already able to transport several drones and bugs directly through the shields of both ships. The bugs have been equipped to assimilate people and the drones can both create bugs and replicate implants. Those are some fairly astonishing improvements over a very short period of time. When the computer conflict that is holding the two groups back from cooperating effectively comes to a halt…I don't know what we can do to stop them. That Super-Collective is the most dangerous thing we've ever faced.”

“And there's no way to…keep them fighting?” Daniel asked.

“As the two consciousness effect one another more and more, they will learn from each other, and each incorporate more of the other's technology into their own,” Seven explained. “Eventually, they will reach a point where they will become indistinguishable.”

“I do not accept that there is nothing we can do about this,” Janeway said. “Nor will I stand by to watch the Borg become a greater threat than they have been.”

“What she said,” O'Neill agreed, nodding at her. “There's got to be a way to remind these two groups they should be fighting each other more than anybody else.”

Major Carter shook her head. “Sir, the only way to do that would be to introduce new programming into one, or both of the computer consciousnesses. And the only way to do that would be for someone to physically enter that _ha'tak_ to input the programming. Whoever went _would_ be assimilated. It's a suicide mission.”

There was a deep silence. Finally, Malek said, “I can do it.”

“It should be me,” said Selmak. “I am the more expendable.”

“No,” Malek replied. “You are not. And should anything go wrong, I do not wish to be the one to report to the council that Selmak is dead. I will do it.” He turned to Doctor Beckett and the Doctor. “The two of you were successful in reversing what was done to Anise. I will trust that you can do this a second time.”

“Okay, so that's our plan?” Pendergast said.

“Only half of it, sir,” Major Carter put in.

“The major is correct,” Seven said. “If we wish to ensure that Malek's actions go undetected, we must offer the Super-Collective a distraction.”

“I was really hoping it wouldn't come to that,” O'Neill sighed. “Okay, so what do we bait them with? They don't really want either of our ships.”

“New technology. Replicators love new technology,” Sam offered.

“What about the planet?” Jackson put in. “We all had a feeling there might be an Ancient outpost there. I know the Replicators would go for it, if they knew where it was.”

“The Borg could be tempted to such a place,” Seven agreed.

“How would we defend our position?” Janeway asked. “If we draw them in, they'll know right where we are.”

“I've got some thoughts on that. We'll have to trust each other more than we have, though,” Major Carter said.

Janeway looked at Pendergast who smiled. “I wasn't sure about you folks at first,” the colonel said, “but you've been good allies up to now. If we can stop these guys, I'd love to have your help.”

“I agree,” Janeway said.

“Then here’s my recommendation,” Carter told them, and she settled in to lay out her plan.


	8. Attack With The Army You Have, But Give That Army All The Guns And Ammo They Can Carry

Jack stood at the door to the infirmary with Tuvok. They were watching Doctor Beckett argue with Malek. The two in the infirmary had been going back and forth for the past five minutes, and Beckett was eventually going to cave, but he did not like this plan and had no compunctions about saying so. In a thicker and thicker Scottish accent. Jack was fairly certain that they’d be treated to some genuine Gaelic in a moment or two as Beckett got so angry that English just stopped doing the job.

“There’s nae guarantee you’ll be comin’ back!” Beckett shouted, waving his arms for punctuation.

“Doctor, I would much prefer not to place myself or my host in this kind of danger, but there is no other plan available. If you have a better one, I will be the first to endorse it, believe me,” Malek replied.

“I dinnae need a good plan to recognize a bad one,” Beckett said, arms now crossed.

“No. But you do need a better plan to overrule the _only one we currently possess_ ,” Malek said, looking him straight in the eyes.

Beckett seemed to deflate. “I’d really rather not send you off to die.” He’d dialed back the accent, Jack noted. Back to normal, then. He was about to cave.

“Doctor, while I realize this plan carries a high level of risk, and there is always a chance of failure, I absolutely am not planning to die. I am not embarking on a suicide mission. I am trusting you to save my host when I return.

Beckett pulled an injection gun from a nearby drawer and unhappily loaded something into it. “I only learned about the Borg today. I may not be able to save your host.”

He placed the gun on Malek’s forearm and pulled the trigger. Malek pulled a face at the pain of the injection, but did not react otherwise. Then he nodded to the doctor. “I saw how well you cared for Freya. I have confidence in your abilities. You _tau’ri_ seem to rise to the occasion when given the chance.”

That was twice today he’d said something like that. Now Jack was curious.

“The chip you have been injected with,” Tuvok said, “is not only a tracking chip. It carries the ability to administer a mild shock. Once you leave the Super-Collective's vessel, press down hard against it, and it will disrupt the nanite activity within your body. It may slow, or even halt, the assimilation process.”

Malek looked very pleased at this. “Very well.” He stood and exited the sickbay.

“So…,” Jack said, looking over at him. “You seem awfully sweet on humanity today.”

Malek smiled. “We have had our differences, I admit. I suppose it must surprise you.”

“A little.”

“I admire your people. You are honest. The _tok'ra_ have sacrificed a great deal in our fight to survive and I fear some of the things we gave up may have been pieces of our souls,” he said, looking down.

Jack looked at the man for a moment and said, “Okay, I'm gonna stop you before this gets too weepy and tell you you're being ridiculous. Look, I'm the last guy to defend every decision the tok'ra have ever made and I'll tell you up front that you people piss me off more often than not. But I will also tell you that you overall have the right goals. My country's had allies in the past who didn't have the right goals, and working with them felt slimy. Working with you just feels annoying.”

Malek looked at him for a moment before laughing. “Very well, then. And thank you for the compliment, however backhanded it was.”

Jack shook his head. “All right, time to get you ready to go.”

They made their way down to the shuttlebay and started prepping Malek’s glider.

“Congress is going to eat us alive, sending this off to the Bugs,” Jack said, as he looked the craft over.

“Congress?” Malek asked.

Jack’s subsequent explanation about US military and defense budgeting and the accountability involved—with appropriately sarcastic commentary accompanying, of course—carried them through the rest of the pre-flight preparations.

They were just wrapping up when Sam Carter came into the bay.

“We just finished it,” she announced. “That Seven of Nine woman is absolutely a gem. I won’t tell you exactly how it works so that the Super-Collective can’t get it off you, but the installation process is to insert it into any socket for a control crystal. We programmed it to upload itself automatically without you needing to do anything else.” Sam handed Malek a control crystal that had been cut in half with a little black cap on the end. Jack smiled. Having been chopped off like that, it’d be a nightmare trying to pry the thing back out of the socket, even if the Repli-Borgs took in their head to try.

“If we had more time, we’d disguise it better for you,” she added, sounding apologetic.

“I feel as though I should take offense at everyone’s certainty I shall not return,” Malek said.

Jack laughed a little. “You really need to quit being so interesting today. I may have to start actually liking you a little.”

“Well, we certainly cannot have that,” Malek replied. “I think this is the time when I must retreat. My host is a perfectly able pilot and I have been keeping him uncomfortably suppressed to prevent any information being passed to our enemies. This time should be minimized.”

That got raised eyebrows from all three people standing there.

Then Malek’s head dropped. A moment later he looked up and gazed around, but the personality was clearly different. Shy, almost. And a quiet voice, with an accent different from Malek’s said, “While I know all of you already, of course, none of you have yet met me. I am Sallash, Malek’s host.”

Jack stepped up and said, “All right, listen, Sallash. I know it’s a late moment, but you don’t have to do this you know. It’s incredibly dangerous. You’re…well, you’re giving up everything to that thing in your head.”

“What he said,” Sam agreed. “We’re not committed to this plan. We can figure out something else.”

Tuvok nodded. “It does seem an extreme solution.”

Sallash shook his head. “You don’t understand.” He offered Jack a wry expression. “You probably don’t even want to after what Kanan did. And I don’t blame you. How he could…” Sallash trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. That’s over and you’re safe, and that is the important thing.”

Jack blinked.

“But after fifty years of sharing your mind with someone, doing everything with them, it becomes second nature to depend on them. I am very uncomfortable right now, not being able to share my mind with Malek,” Sallash said.

At this, Jack and Sam looked a bit put off, but Tuvok seemed to understand.

“I did not think you would care for it,” Sallash said, with an understanding smile. “It is not in your nature. But I trust in Malek. He will return me safely home.”

“Very well. If you are not being coerced, then let us proceed,” Tuvok said, picking up the silence after Sallash’s statement.

“Good luck, Sallash. And your snake, too,” Jack said.

Sallash climbed wordlessly into the cockpit of the glider and the three of them left the bay before opening the door to allow him to fly out.

“I wonder what he was before he volunteered to get snaked?” Jack mused out loud as Sallash flew from the bay and he began cycling the big door back to closed and repressurizing the deck.

“An illogical speculation when we may simply ask him when he returns,” Tuvok told him.

“Well, you’re no fun at all,” Jack mused.

Sam suppressed a smile.

“I am a Vulcan,” Tuvok replied.

Jack and Sam exchanged a baffled glance and Jack wordlessly ordered Sam to be the one to ask.

“You seem to say that a lot. Does it mean something?” Sam asked. “I mean, other than your species designation?”

Jack gestured for them to head down the hallway towards the elevator as Tuvok began to explain. By the time they’d arrived on the bridge, Jack was shaking his head in dismay, but had decided not to argue. If the whole planet gave up their emotions for something as dull as logic, then he was just going to class them all as innately boring and move on.

Which would be easier if he hadn’t watched Tuvok unhesitatingly join the fight to defend Prometheus—a ship not his own—earlier. And Teal’c had mentioned to Jack that he had shown himself a courageous and capable warrior during their engagement. So Jack couldn’t help but give him a few points for that, no matter how many emotions he skipped.

So when they arrived on the bridge, Jack said, “Frankly, that all sounds as dull as dishwater, but if it makes you happy, I won’t argue.”

Tuvok raised a brow and said, “’Happy’ would be an emotional response. But, to use the human metaphor, I will accept that statement ‘in the spirit it was offered.’”

Jack smiled. “There we go. Now for the fun stuff…although we will try not to let _you_ have any. Time to set up our trap for the Super Bugs.”

He was less enthusiastic when he started to look over the artillery they had actually available. The ship had been designed to be the weapon, and they’d come out here planning to research a satellite, not stage a defensive campaign. Jack dialed the SGC and managed to convince Hammond to part with four 50-cals and as much ammo for them as they could load down on the extra troops that would gate in along with them, but he would’ve preferred at least double of both the big guns and the extra personnel.

Daniel, on _Voyager_ , helped someone named “Harry Kim” search the planet for the suspected Ancient outpost and they found what they were looking for in about five minutes. From there it was just a matter of off-loading the relevant personnel and equipment from the two ships and setting up the site. Which included absolutely everyone on either ship who had the Ancient gene.

Carson Beckett had been absolutely flabbergasted when several of _Voyager_ ’s crew—including several non-humans—scanned positive for the gene.

"I’m starting to think we need to reconsider our view of the Ancients as so curious and exploratory minded. Apparently they only explored to find more romantic partners," Beckett groused as he and Jack worked their way down a hallway.

Jack, who’d been thinking something similar, shrugged. “Yeah, they got around in more ways than one.”

What they were doing was, more or less, turning on every single light switch they could find. The idea was to draw the Bugs to their position, so to do that, they wanted as much Ancient stuff turned on and making whatever noise it made as loudly as they could get it to make it. The outpost was small and boasted no defenses beyond a shield that had probably been designed for inclement weather events but was sturdy enough, though Jack was able to find a command console that gave him access to a real-time map of their area of the galaxy. The Starfleet folks called it a “sensor system.” While those with the Ancient gene went around turning on absolutely every single thing they could, everyone else was busily installing heavy artillery—Jack eyed the phaser canons being set up on the roof between their 50-cals with sincere envy—and rigging defenses on the approach. The Ancients had built this outpost at the head of a valley. Obviously that wouldn’t matter very much to a ship attacking from the sky, but anybody coming at them from the ground would have to come up the valley floor.

And finally, all there was left to do was wait. Wait, and hope that the bugs took the bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sallash, Malek’s host, is entirely my own invention. Originally his speech about trusting Malek was longer and then I realized it didn’t fit very well with Malek’s later assertion that he doesn’t talk that much. The conversation he makes that assertion in was eventually dropped in editing, but even so. Still, I’ve had this guy in my head for a while, and I thought it would be amusing for Malek, the arrogant jerk from that one episode, to be balanced out by a quiet and unassuming man for a host.


	9. Traps And Resistance

Seven had found herself somewhat disappointed when she was discovered not have the specific gene that allowed her to operate the devices created by the society these humans termed "Ancients." She admired the concept of limiting their function only to members of one species. As security measures went, it was very efficient. Despite her lack of the gene, Tuvok—who also lacked the Ancient gene—had selected her as part of the team on the ground in what Dr. Jackson told them had been a scientific research outpost, and they had both been assisting in setting up their defenses.

Like most of _Voyager_ , Seven had rapidly realized that the humans who were members of what they called Stargate Command were much like Starfleet in their ideology. It made them good partners in this current endeavor. They had also stated that they did not agree with the Prime Directive, but would respect it. While none of the Starfleet officers had stopped them from making cursory examinations of their technology, none of the SGC personnel had attempted anything beyond visual observation, and had been largely respectful of the crew's desire to avoid taking their technology.

Seven had a feeling that they had recognized that _Voyager_ was superior only in terms of weapons and fine sensor scans. Many of the other critical systems on _Prometheus_ (especially the propulsion) were far superior, and likely the SGC simply did not wish to negotiate for them. Perhaps they would have at least made stronger attempts at persuasion if they did.

Now that their defenses were in place, everyone was at rest in their places, waiting to see whether the Super-Collective would come to their trap. Seven was waiting in their staging post with the other Starfleet personnel who were here under Commander Chakotay.

She had been confident the Super-Collective would come only a few hours ago, but now, in this inactive lull, she was beginning to wonder if that had been overconfident. A man—or two, sharing a single body—had voluntarily put himself at the non-existent mercy of the Borg at her recommendation and now…nothing was happening. What if they did not come?

Vorik—who did possess the Ancient gene—came up to them from a hallway. "Doctors Jackson and Beckett report that the outpost is as active as they can cause it to be. We have even turned on a communication array and set it to broadcast on frequencies known to be monitored by the Borg."

Chakotay frowned. "I suppose we're not being very subtle about the fact that this is a trap."

"The Borg do not believe they can be effectively resisted. Traps are meaningless to them," Seven said automatically. Then, realizing that perhaps this very overconfidence had sent Malek to his death, she added, "Generally speaking."

Chakotay and Vorik both turned to her with curious expressions.

Seven shifted her stance, suddenly uncomfortable. "Perhaps I should not purport myself to be so expert in the behavior of the Borg."

"You spent longer in the Collective than any other liberated drone. You are the one who taught us that the Borg have a culture and a philosophy," Chakotay replied. "You are an expert on their behavior."

"But what if I am in error? Malek has already sacrificed himself," Seven protested.

"That is an illogical concern. Error is always a possibility and was a known factor of risk prior to Malek's decision," Vorik told her.

Seven blinked. "I had not considered that. Thank you."

"I come to serve," he replied.

Seven stiffened. From time to time, she still received messages from the Collective, and such a transmission was reaching her now.

"Seven?" Chakotay's expression was now one of concern.

"I can hear them. The Super-Collective." She tilted her head to the side in a futile attempt to "hear" better. "They are altering their course. They are going…" She took a moment to translate the designated course adjustment from the Borg's usual form of communication to those Voyager was using at the moment. "Here. They are coming here. It appears I was not mistaken after all."

Chakotay tapped his badge. "Chakotay to _Voyager_ and _Prometheus_."

"Go ahead, Commander," Tuvok answered.

"Reading you, Commander," Lieutenant Simmons said from the other ship.

"Seven is receiving communications from the Super-Collective. She says they're on their way."

"Let's hope Malek was successful in his mission," Kathryn said. "We're all in position up here. We give the Collective five minutes to transporter range. Good hunting, Commander."

"And you, _Voyager_. _Prometheus_."

Chakotay tapped his badge again to turn it off and then turned to the others. "All right. Five minutes. Anything that needs to be done better be finished already."

Everyone—other than Vorik and herself—smiled a little at that. Seven had observed that such little humorous moments served the purpose of "breaking up tension" as the Doctor called it. She was still struggling to understand her own emotions, and therefore did not really understand tension of this sort, or why it was bad, but it seemed important to the human members of the crew and those with similar psychologies. Perhaps it was the reassurance that making a joke meant a situation was relaxed, and non-threatening. Therefore they need not feel threatened by this one. A foolish thought, since this situation was dangerous in the extreme, but humans seemed to function more efficiently with this falsehood in their minds.

She would have the Doctor attempt to explain it later.

The next several minutes seemed to pass by at a slower rate than they ought to but when things began to happen, it was very abrupt. Several Borg drones and an enormous number of Replicator bugs were transported on to the ground outside the Outpost.

There had been some debate as to whether that could be expected or if the Collective would simply transport their attackers inside. This debate halted when the two remaining tok'ra, Selmak and Anise, discovered a device that the others identified as a goa'uld shield emitter and the SGC personnel had been able to repair it quickly. According to their allies, this shield prevented anything moving with a high rate of kinetic energy from penetrating it, but not those of slower speeds. The Borg and Replicators would be unable to transport in, but would not be prevented from transporting just outside and approaching at a slower speed.

And now, the enemy was here.

These new drones were mainly those who had been on the Borg vessel, but intermixed with them were those who had been servants of Zipacna. The ones called _jaffa_.

The phasers on the roof began firing, which Seven had expected. She had known that the projectile weapons the Earth people used would be loud, but she had not anticipated just how loud until they opened fire. Combined with the electrical sounds produced by the “staff weapons” and “zat guns” in use by Teal’c and the _tok’ra_ , and she actually winced in surprise at the volume of noise suddenly rending the quiet.

Chakotay and Ayala, who were in covered positions near her, both seemed entire at ease with the situation and Seven suddenly realized that they had been in ground combat against then Cardassians before. This scenario was not new for them.

One of the SGC soldiers, “HAILEY” by her nametag, took up a position beside Seven.

“You okay over there?” Hailey asked, as she picked off Replicator bugs.

Seven frowned. “I am functional.”

Hailey quirked her mouth as she took aim at a drone. Her shot was deflected by a shield. Seven took aim with her phaser rifle and the drone went down.

“Call your targets. I’ll finish them if they don’t go down for you,” Hailey told her.

Seven nodded, and began calling out which drone she was targeting. Hailey was an efficient partner and the two of them picked off at least ten drones on their own. The approach was now covered in disassembled Replicator blocks and fallen drones. The ground forces kept coming, of course, but it was clear to Seven that barring significant intervention to assist the Super-Collective or some catastrophic disaster for the defenders, the attacking Super-Collective forces would be defeated.

And then significant intervention arrived.

The clouds seemed to boil as a ship descended through them, shaped like a pyramid, and firing heavy bolts on the research outpost. The shield deflected them, but the power to every other system dipped alarmingly on each blow.

“Time for step two!” Chakotay called back down the hallway.

“Seconded!” came the voice of Colonel O’Neill from above.


	10. Sometimes A Pilot’s Job Is Counterintuitive

Tom Paris was not flying _Voyager_.

He was still piloting, of course, because nobody could pilot the ship like he could. The unofficial name for this trick was the Riker Maneuver. Put your ship dead exactly over the planet’s magnetic pole, shut down all non-essential systems, and let the magnetic interference hide you. Only with non-essential systems shut down, that left you with minimal maneuvering power. And starships were big animals that, when in an atmosphere, were designed to pretend things like inertia and air friction were for _other_ people. Holding still was not a natural state for a starship. Any starship. But when trying to hide like this, you didn’t want to use a lot of thrusters. And Tom didn’t have a whole lot of thrusters to use.

He was not flying _Voyager_. He was holding _Voyager_ fantastically, infinitesimally, microscopically still over the exact magnetic north pole of the planet, it was very difficult and stressful, and he was starting to think fondly of being back in prison because of it.

 _Prometheus_ was at the south pole and they were both aimed directly at the little outpost, listening to the reports from the defenders coming in over the comm. The reports had been entirely positive until Chakotay’s voice came in over the hailing frequency.

“ _Voyager_ , _Prometheus_! Time for part two!”

A huge crash sounded in the background.

“Mr. Paris!” Janeway said.

Tom was already executing the command they’d set up. They’d calculated a very tiny warp jump to bring them almost instantly on top of the Super-Collective’s _ha’tak_ at the same time as _Prometheus_ did the same thing with their ship. And then both _Voyager_ and _Prometheus_ let loose a devastating barrage, forcing the enemy ship to go down further and further towards the ground.

 _Voyager_ and _Prometheus_ had both been designed to be able to land if necessary. But according to Daniel Jackson’s excellently informative lecture, ha’tak vessels had been designed to land only on specially constructed platforms. That ship was not going to land gently.

 _Voyager_ ’s shields absorbed some return fire from the _ha’tak_ , but it was clear they were doing serious damage to it. The Super-Collective’s internal disagreements had apparently prevented any real adaptation to the combined weapons of their two ships.

Then there was a moment where the enemy ship seemed to get caught on some invisible string, internal forces temporarily stronger than anything else acting on it.

“Cease firing,” Janeway ordered.

Tom pulled his hand away from the weapon’s controls and they all watched the ha’tak for a moment. And then, suddenly, it broke into two separate, jagged pieces and fell, smoking, the remaining distance to earth. Tom watched in alarm as the ground seemed to ripple from the force, spreading outwards towards the research station. Tom winced as he watched the building shake from the impact.

“Chakotay, report!” Janeway snapped, twisting in her seat to face Harry, as if that would somehow bring her closer to her First Officer. Tom didn’t blame her. Everyone on the bridge had turned to face the ops station.

“We’re okay,” Chakotay’s voice said, and Tom felt the tense feeling slip from between his shoulderblades. “Knocked off our feet, and I’m not sure this outpost will ever be the same again, but we’re okay. No fatalities reported. A few broken bones, and Vorik was hit by weapons’ fire, but he’ll be okay.” There was a pause and then he said, “Status on our ships?”

“ _Voyager_ reports no casualties,” Harry said, after checking his board.

“ _Prometheus_ reports no casualties,” Colonel Pendergast said a moment later.

Tom finally allowed himself to smile. “So what do they do for fun in this galaxy?”

Janeway gave him an answering grin. “Mr. Paris, bring us to a standard orbit. Mr. Kim, beam down medical teams. Let’s see how many of those drones we can save.”

Tom signaled _Prometheus_ their trajectory, and then smoothly assumed a geo-synchronous orbit before handing the conn off to Rory Jenkins and going to beam down to join the medical teams.

He didn’t have a lot of experience with what he was walking into, so he felt he could be forgiven for being shocked when he was beamed into a portion of the downed _ha’tak_ and was immediately confronted with a contorted human body, irrevocably dead, the top and bottom of the torso having been severed brutally in the middle by a fallen support beam.

 _It’s always so much cleaner on_ Voyager, Tom marveled, staring in shock at the blood pooling on the floor. Somehow, despite all the horrible injuries he’d seen, none of them had ever seemed quite this…shockingly present. Even death in a vacuum—the nightmare of “getting spaced” that every member of Starfleet had and then promptly denied ever having—wasn’t messy. It wasn’t even painful, if the literature was to be believed.

This would’ve hurt. This would’ve been slow.

He looked at his hands, suddenly shaking.

“Hey!” a voice called. He looked up to find someone staring at him. A woman, short, with reddish-brown hair. “Are you one of _Voyager_ ’s medical personnel?”

“I’m…” He trailed off. Somehow he couldn’t figure out how to say yes without sounding dishonest. He’d been manning the weapons. This was his work that was bleeding out onto the floor.

“Listen, I understand that this is a shock, but these people need help sooner, not later. If you can focus, you can help me. If you can’t, you’ll need to go outside,” she said. The words sounded harsh, but Tom understood the reasoning behind them.

“I can focus.”

“Then come with me.”

Tom followed the woman, who introduced herself as Doctor Janet Frasier, and did exactly as she ordered without speaking for a few moments, until he caught himself reflexively handing her a dermal regenerator and watched in amusement as she frowned at it before handing it back.

“Sorry. This is good for bleeding like this, though,” he told her. He held it over a deep cut on the drone between them and turned it on. Dr. Frasier watched in astonishment as the tissue knit itself back together under the slight hum of his device.

“Oh, we may want to ask you to trade for some of those,” the doctor said as she watched in amazement.

“I don’t know if the captain will let them go,” Tom sighed, “but she’d at least listen to your offer. It’s called a ‘dermal regenerator.’”

“That wasn’t a dermis it regenerated,” the doctor said with a sparkle in her eye.

“I know, but that’s what it’s called anyway,” Tom laughed.

They moved through the ship, putting people back together, occasionally fending off the odd replicator bug that hadn’t quite been disabled, and marking the location of the dead. They’d just finished marking the location of a dead drone when Tom said, “I did this.”

Frasier looked at him curiously.

“I was the weapon’s officer on _Voyager_ ,” Tom explained.

“And then they sent you straight here as a medic and the first thing you saw was that poor _jaffa_ ,” Frasier said, in a tone that indicated she understood what he was driving at. “That would be confusing.”

“I wasn’t even supposed to be a medic, but there wasn’t anyone else,” Tom told her, suddenly wanting to be understood.

“Your ship is a bit of a puzzle to us. People keep calling it a ‘heavily modified research vessel,’ which is an…interesting classification. I don’t want you to get into any trouble telling me things you shouldn’t, but…we are pretty curious,” Frasier said.

“I can’t give away technology. But stories are free,” Tom said. And the whole story came pouring out of him. _Voyager_ ’s original mission, getting stranded in the Delta Quadrant, the Maquis, the Borg, he and the Doctor being the only medical personnel—and the Doctor was a hologram, which was weird—and how, after so many years and so little progress to show for it, though admittedly more than they expected, he was beginning to doubt if they would ever get home.

“And a part of me is starting to wonder if I even want to,” Tom confessed. “I don’t really have a lot waiting for me back on Earth. I’ve done more good on _Voyager_ than I ever did anywhere else.”

Fraiser looked a little too shrewd at hearing what he told her and he wondered if he had given away too much, although he honestly couldn’t see how. What she said was, “It must be hard with so many people and so few doctors.”

“Every runny nose in the _galaxy_ , you would not believe,” Tom groaned.

Frasier laughed, and—as they moved through the ship—told him some of her more amusing medical anecdotes, edited to protect the guilty.

They were just finishing up on a drone when ominous little taps alerted Tom and Frasier to a nearby replicator. The two turned in the direction of the noise and both opened fire on the little machine. When they’d reduced it to little blocks, Tom heard a voice say from another room, “Why must _tau’ri_ weapons be so loud?”

Tom blinked. “Mmmm…Malek?”

“Indeed.” A drone moved around the doorway, hands held out to show open palms.

“The guns operate with explosions,” Frasier told him with a smile. “What’s the excuse for the staff weapons?”

Malek laughed, although it sounded odd from the mouth of a Borg drone. “The developer of the _ma’tok_ is not in my genetic lineage. I do not know why they were made so loud.”

Tom scowled. “I’m gonna need an explanation on how that was an answer at some point. But for the moment, I think you need some assistance to de-assimilate.”

“I would be grateful. My host is deeply frightened and I am having trouble reaching his mind. The sooner he is removed from the influence on these awful Borg creatures, the better.”

Tom removed his commbadge and stuck it on Malek’s chest. Then he tapped it. “Voyager, lock on to my commbadge and beam it directly to _Prometheus_ sickbay.”

“Acknowledged. Stand by,” Harry replied calmly.

“Tell Colonel O’Neill that his 302 is in the Glider Bay. He will not need to explain its absence to Congress,” Malek said.

Fraiser started laughing. “Even I’m glad to hear that.”

“Transport in progress,” Harry announced from commbadge.

Malek disappeared in a shower of sparkles.

Frasier blinked. “Well, your transporter technology is certainly prettier than ours.”

“How’d you come across the advanced technology, anyway?” Tom asked, curiously.

“Some of it we discovered using the stargates,” Frasier replied, “some of it we backwards-engineered—well, Sam did most of the backwards-engineering, but I was… _there_ —backwards-engineered from technology we recovered from the _goa’uld_. But most of what makes up _Prometheus_ was gifted by an allied race called the Asgard.”

Tom thought about inquiring after the Asgard, but after a moment, he decided to ask something else. “How bad are the _goa’uld_ , exactly?”

Frasier gave a shudder. “Awful.” She paused a moment, then shrugged. “But if stories are free…” And Tom found himself hearing about the frankly horrifying practices that the _goa’uld_ had visited out on the humans of the galaxy. And as he listened, he realized that these humans must’ve started tackling the _goa’uld_ with no advanced technology at the outset.

Maybe they should ask them to start thinking on ways to defeat the Borg.


	11. All Days Are Good Days To Witness The Death Of A False God

It had taken Teal’c a long time to adjust to _tau’ri_ culture. Longer than he had allowed the _tau’ri_ to believe. And one such instance that he had taken a great deal of time to recognize for what it was was the frequency with which he would be asked to take charge of _goa’uld_ prisoners. He had initially believed it to be a cautionary reminder of just who it was he had served for so many years. Until O’Neill had absently remarked that “I know you always like seeing those snakes go down.” When Teal’c had pursued the question with Daniel Jackson, Daniel had assured him that asking him to oversee such prisoners was partly down to the fact that he was likely the only member of SG-1 who could physically overpower a _goa’uld_ if it became necessary, he _was_ the only member of SG-1 who could not be taken for a host, and they all thought it might give him some pleasure to see his former tormentors taken down a peg.

In this, they were correct. It _did_ give him pleasure.

He was happier, though, when he did not have to take charge of the _goa’uld_ alone. The _tau’ri_ had become his allies in all things, and his victories were their victories.

He, O’Neill, and Daniel Jackson had all gone together to retrieve Zipacna from his cell in the brig.

O’Neill swiped his badge to open the door while Daniel stood on the far side of the hallway with a readied _zat’ni’katel_ to stun their prisoner if necessary.

“Come forth, false god, for the day of your reckoning is upon you,” Teal’c ordered in a ringing voice.

Zipacna had the audacity to laugh. “I think I’ll remain, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You can come out on your own, or we can stun you and drag you out,” Daniel informed him. “Pick your poison.”

Zipacna slowly, and with dragging feet, emerged from the cell. “An apt phrase. Do you know how the _tok’ra_ murder the _goa’uld_?”

“I’m familiar with the extraction procedures,” Daniel replied. “Considering my wife was never fortunate enough to undergo one, whether it hurts the goould isn’t something that bothers me much.”

Teal’c leveled his _ma’tok_ at Zipacna. “Turn and face away from the door.”

Zipacna did, reluctantly, and O’Neill put a set of zip cuffs on his hands.

“You are much quieter than usual, Colonel O’Neill,” Zipacna observed.

“I don’t waste my truly excellent sarcasm on beaten losers,” O’Neill informed him. “Let’s go.”

The three escorted Zipacna to the ring room, and out to the underside of the ship. When they reached the outside, Selmak and Malek—now free of his technological infection from the Borg.

“ _Tok’ra_ ,” Teal’ announced, “we deliver to you this false god that you may visit justice upon him.”

“ _Jaffa_. Teal’c,” Selmak replied, the echoing voice confirming that it was Selmak and not the father of Samantha who spoke. And it would be uncomfortable how similar he sounded to the goa’uld but for the respectful bow of his head. “Thank you for delivering this criminal to us.”

Teal’c heard O’Neill mumble to Daniel. “Awfully formal all of a sudden.”

“Everything from now until the end of the extraction is part of the ceremony,” Daniel whispered back. “I will buy you a steak if you try to be a little serious.”

Teal’c smothered a smile.

They followed the two _tok’ra_ to the stargate, several of the officers from the SGC and _Voyager_ came with them. And since Samantha and Seven-of-Nine were still studying the Ancient device to determine how to return Voyager to their proper place, they had plenty of time to witness the extraction ceremony.

A good portion of _Voyager_ ’s crew had expressed revulsion at the idea of intentionally executing any sentient life-form. A few had even gone so far as to call it “barbaric.” But, much to Teal’c’s surprise, a sizable portion of that crew—including the first officer—were apparently quite sanguine about witnessing an execution and a few had asked to come and witness the ceremony. DanielJackson had requested an explanation from a man named OscarAyala on the way to the extraction chamber and the resultant conversation carried them all the way to the beginning of the trial. It involved a deeply questionable treaty that Ayala’s political body had signed with a race of beings called “Cardassians,” military occupation of multiple worlds, and something called “Maquis” that had made Daniel’s eyes widen and his interest rise and would no doubt result in Daniel spending many long nights in his office at the expense of maintaining his physical fitness to the extent that Teal’c preferred. DanielJackson had progressed a long way on this matter from when SG-1 had begun, but he had a fundamental tendency to default to cerebral pursuits over physical ones.

It was a long-standing tension between them. The fond bickering of brothers, and comforting in its familiarity.

Regardless of their relative ease at accepting that the extraction did end in a death, the Starfleet officers who joined them did seem somewhat reassured to know that the accused was permitted to speak and if they chose to mount a defense, the _tok’ra_ would permit them to do so. Even to the point of postponing to examine evidence or question witnesses, if need be.

This did not happen in Zipacna’s case. He was defiant to the last, and his extraction was quick.

It was a strange thing to gaze on his former host. Yet, Teal’c found he felt little for the man but a vague sense of pity. And he felt less pity for this man than he did most former hosts. The crew from _Voyager_ had analyzed how the _goa’uld_ was keeping him from aging and their Doctor had devised a treatment. It would not prolong the man’s life forever, of course. But it would prevent him from experiencing the rapid aging that many former hosts suffered when their tormentors were cast out.

With the ceremony over, Teal’c left. The _tok’ra_ had provided some refreshments, but extraction ceremonies were generally considered somber events among them and guests were encouraged to disperse quietly and respectfully when they had finished. So he elected to return to the _chappa’ai_ and await the rest of SG-1 there.

“Mr. Teal’c!” a voice called behind him.

He turned to see Chakotay approaching him.

“‘Teal’c’ will suffice. I possess neither title nor rank,” Teal’c said to the man.

Chakotay nodded. “My apologies. I would like to ask a question, if it doesn’t trouble you.”

Teal’c blinked. “I am _jaffa_. Your inquiry pertains to this?”

The man nodded, and they began walking towards the _chappa’ai_. “You were the one Dr. Jackson meant when he said someone who’d left their people behind, weren’t you? And your mark is different from most other _jaffa_. A mark of rank?”

“I was known as ‘First Prime.’ I served the System Lord who called himself Apophis. I was his right hand. I carried out his will and commanded all his _jaffa_. Even some of the lesser _goa’uld_ answered to me,” Teal’c said. This admission was, of course, to declare himself a criminal of the worst sort, but many _tau’ri_ seemed not to realize this.

“That must’ve come with a lot of power and luxury,” Chakotay said.

“A great deal.”

“Why give it up?”

Teal’c thought about his reply for a long moment. He had done terrible things for Apophis. He had killed, he had made slaves, he had delivered up innocents to torture and death and other things that he could not think long about. He had never done these things himself, of course, and he told himself he could’ve done nothing to stop them. And that was even true, to an extent. Bra’tac’s insistence that resistance be built gradually was—from the inside—the best strategy.

But that did not negate his participation. These things were reasons. Not excuses. It began to seem more and more likely that his crimes would never be punished in this lifetime. But lack of punishment was a different matter from lack of guilt.

He looked to Chakotay. “Because I could no longer bear to be a party to Apophis’ evil. O’Neill offered me a chance to leave. And I took it in hopes that I could fight against my former master. I was able to do so. And we defeated him.”

Chakotay’s mouth quirked up. “That must’ve been quite an accomplishment. I’m afraid my own rebellion ended much less successfully.”

“I did not hear the full accounting told to DanielJackson. Would you explain this rebellion to me?”

So Chakotay did. And when he finished, Teal’c understood much better. “You came to see Zipacna’s fate because you have no hopes of justice coming for the Cardassians.”

Chakotay cocked his head to the side. “I’d like to think I’m not that bloodthirsty. But I did want to…understand. That…even if it _were_ possible to make them face up to what they’d done, would it be worth it? Would it be satisfying?”

Teal’c nodded. “It would not.”

“No. It wouldn’t. There’s a balance to it. Justice isn't about my personal satisfaction. But it doesn’t fix anything. Not really.”

They lapsed into quiet, until they reached the _chappa’ai_. They were shortly joined by others there and did not have a chance to speak on the matter further. Samantha contacted them by radio that they would have the satellite calibrated to return Voyager to their reality in about two hours. Apparently Malek had recovered sufficiently to report that the original Borg probe had been entirely cannibalized by the Super-Collective, and all that was left of it was the _ha’tak_.

So that was the end. Even their offer to allow _Voyager_ ’s engineer to study the hyperdrive in hopes of adapting some of the principles to shorten their journey had already been accepted and fulfilled.

Teal’c found himself standing in a hallway with a long window beside DanielJackson as the ha’tak was raised from the planet beneath them by tractor beam. It had been cleared of all living _jaffa_ , who had been treated and evacuated elsewhere. The bodies of the dead had been laid in the bunks. And the weapons of both _Voyager_ and _Prometheus_ fired the _ha’tak_ from space.

Teal’c turned to Daniel. “You will be recording the account of the Maquis as told to you by Mister Ayala?”

Daniel blinked. “Well, yes. It’s a fascinating glimpse into political tensions in an alternate reality. Maybe it’s only a curiosity, but…I’m curious.”

“Commander Chakotay recounted his story to me, and I would like to record it as well,” Teal’c said.

Daniel’s eyebrows went up. “You would?”

“Indeed.”

“Ah…great. How about after we finish the debrief? While it’s still fresh?”

Teal’c nodded.

“That’s good.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“When we complete this task, it will ensure you have some time available to train in the gym,” Teal’c said.

“You would use this as an excuse, wouldn’t you?” Daniel muttered.

“Indeed, I would.”

“Fine. I’ll let you run me around for a while.”

“That will be most welcome.”

They were at the wrong vantage point to see the satellite in operation, but they both saw the moment when _Voyager_ disappeared.

Daniel sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s that.”

“Do you not intend to complete your study of the device?”

“It’s completed. We had to in order to send _Voyager_ back. I left all the translations with Sam before we took Zipacna to the _tok’ra_ ,” Daniel said with a shrug, looking disappointed. “So much for the purely archaeological mission.”

Teal’c frowned. He had never truly mastered how to cheer Daniel up when he was faced with academic disappointment. So he simply laid his hand on Daniel’s shoulder and gave him a few awkward pats.

Daniel looked at him in surprise and then burst out laughing. “Thanks, Teal’c.”

“I will attempt to convince O’Neill to select the most archaeological of missions for our upcoming assignments.”

Daniel, still wearing a grin, shook his head. “I’ve got a few upcoming digs with the archaeology department to follow up on some old ruins. You and Jack don’t have to bore yourself for me just yet.”

Teal’c nodded pleasantly.

“I appreciate the offer, all the same.”

They lapsed into quiet for a moment until Daniel said, “Hungry?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, we’ve got lots of MREs,” Daniel replied with a grin as he stood up.

Teal’c groaned internally, but stood as well. They had defeated yet another System Lord. They had learned new secrets of the builders of the _chappa’ai_. They had destroyed a serious threat to peace in the galaxy. Not even MREs could ruin his good mood today.

Probably.

THE END


End file.
